Under Control
by sss979
Summary: When Stockwell has Murdock's girlfriend arrested, the question of what he wants with her comes to the forefront. Season 5. Optional insert rated M; can be skipped if you prefer not to read. (Book 18 of 19)
1. Prologue

**PROLOGUE**

**November 1987**

San Lucino was little more than a shantytown, if one could even call it that. A couple of the residences made the hootches in Vietnam look like upscale houses. A bar and a marketplace complete with wild chickens comprised the "downtown area." When Hannibal and BA had arrived - voluntarily split up from the rest of the team for a mission that didn't require all five of them - it had taken precisely three hours to assess the situation, and another four to neutralize the threatening "vigilantes" who were interfering with Stockwell's operations. In the past week since then, Hannibal had been enjoying peaceful, uninterrupted, unmonitored bliss, sunning himself with a beer in one hand and a cigar in the other while BA taught the local kids about the wonders of baseball with a stick, and fruit that splattered everywhere when one of them actually managed to hit it. What a way to spend a mission.

It had been a surprise to see Face, Murdock, and Frankie arrive, just a few hours ago. Their past week had apparently not been so relaxing. Hannibal listened quietly to the story.

"We left Travis in the garage and stayed another 24 hours to spread the word around that he was gonna roll on the operations. We figured his partners won't exactly take kindly to that." Murdock sat back in the chair across from Hannibal. "The feds were called so there's no chance he'll pay off the locals and get out. They've got all his transactions with the money he stole, his fingerprints on the clip inside the murder weapon, and two witnesses to say he killed Andre. He's going to jail for a long, long time." "Did he?" Hannibal asked.

"Did he what?"

"Kill Andre."

Murdock looked at his bottle of beer and then met Hannibal eyes. "No. He's killed a lot of people, but Andre wasn't one of them."

"That was your girlfriend's doing."

"Andre committed suicide, as far as I'm concerned."

Hannibal studied Murdock for a moment, quietly. It was clear from his matter-of-fact tone that he had no regrets about framing Travis for murder. Murdock was not particularly violent or bloodthirsty. If he had no remorse, there was more than likely no need for remorse. And if Face had gone along, with nothing to be gained, it was only further confirmation that Travis had gotten what was coming to him in the end.

"The thing I can't understand, Colonel," Murdock said quietly, "is what Stockwell had to gain from all of this."

"What do you mean?"

"He brought her here. He wanted something with her. When she killed Andre, she ran. He tracked her down, went all the way to Hawaii to bring her back, and then he just cut contact. He never told her what he wanted."

"Well, maybe it didn't have anything to do with Andre or Travis. He might have just wanted you involved in the first place."

Murdock frowned deeply. "What do you mean?"

"We're assuming he knew her history when he brought her there, and that he had a reason for sticking her in the apartment next to yours. But maybe all he wanted was for you to clear those charges off of her."

Murdock stared. "What? Why? How could he possibly know that I would even get involved? Or be _able _to?"

"Maybe he didn't know. It might have just been a shot in the dark."

"Stockwell doesn't seem like the type to take shots in the dark. Besides, if he wanted the charges cleared, all he needed to do was pull a few strings. Why get us involved at all?"

"All I'm saying, Murdock, is that if he's got a plan, there's another part to it. He'll show his hand soon enough. The only choice you really have to make is whether or not you're going to continue being involved with her, knowing that he could be using her as a pawn for something or another. Not to mention, she hasn't exactly proven herself trustworthy so far."

Murdock shook his head and took a hasty swallow of warm beer, wishing all the while that the water was safe to drink here. "You think cutting her off is an option at this point?"

"I'm not saying cut her off. I _am_ saying that you need to consider just how involved with her you're willing to be. That in and of itself _could _have something to do with Stockwell's plan."

Murdock was quiet for a moment. Finally, he set his bottle down with a soft clink. "I don't know what this… this thingwe have is. I just know that it feels right, somehow. It's not love, it's just… It's like there's something in me that changes when I'm around her. And I like it. It feels like… me."

Hannibal shrugged. "Well, whatever Stockwell wants with her, it may not have anything to do with her. It'd make more sense if it's got something to do with you."

Murdock looked nonplused, distaste at that very idea evident. "Why? There's no way he could've known that. Besides, the man likes me about as much as I like him. And he knows as long as he has you guys, he's holding all the cards."

"Just saying, Murdock. His connection to you is more obvious than his connection to her. Unless she's not telling you something, which is a distinct possibility. Either way, I'd wait and see what Stockwell does. Because he's up to something, but trying to pry it out of him is a no-win situation. Better at this point to keep your own cards close and let him pull them out."  
Hannibal watched as Murdock's desire to know ran smack into the reality of the situation. He wasn't going to know what Stockwell had planned until Stockwell was good and ready to tell him.

Leaning forward, Murdock let out a sigh. "You're right," he conceded as he grabbed his beer bottle again. He was trying to force himself to relax. "Nothing I can do." His eyes closed for a second, then opened again. "But I got real bad feeling about this."


	2. Chapter One

**CHAPTER ONE**

**One Year Later**

_Jan. 26, 1988, 22:23:57 - Hallway security camera. Abel 8 to Smith's room._

Hannibal was tired and sore and distinctly lacking any interest in a formal debriefing. Not that Stockwell really needed one. Hannibal didn't think he really cared _how _they achieved their missions, just as long as they got the desired results. It didn't seem to matter how many people - hell, _countries _- got caught in the crossfire, either. That was far more frustrating than the ragged and underappreciated feeling he felt in every fiber of his being as he showered and collapsed facedown in his bed.

No sooner had he shut his eyes than the knock came at his door. He knew who it was by the pattern. "Come in." He didn't bother moving, or make any effort to open his eyes.

"Someone's looking for you, Hannibal," Face said, poking his head into the room.

"If it's Stockwell, tell him to take a long walk off a short pier."

"Gladly." He could hear the smirk in his lieutenant's voice. "But it's not Stockwell."

"Suzanne?"

"She wanted to know if you were awake."

"Tell her that depends on if she's here on official business."

"Right, Colonel."

The door shut, and a few moments of silence followed before he heard the handle turn again. "Hey," Suzanne's voice called softly. "I'm not here on business. Does that mean I'm welcome?"

He kept his eyes comfortably closed. "Does that mean the nature of your trip is pleasure?"

She chuckled softly and closed the door behind her. "It might be, if you felt so inclined."

He didn't answer, didn't look at her as the mattress depressed under her knees. A moment later, he felt her fingertips run down his back, through his T-shirt.

"Everything okay?" she asked quietly.

"Yes."

She ran her hands back up once more before straddling his waist, grabbing his shoulders, and massaging firmly. He couldn't help the deep moan that escaped. He hadn't realized how tense he was until that very moment.

"Feel good?"

He didn't have to answer that. He did anyways, as a courtesy. "You're good at that."

"I'm good at a lot of things, John." Even though he couldn't see her, he could hear the smile in her voice.

"Mmm."

She was quiet for a moment, working at a particularly stubborn spot on his shoulder. "If the knots in your back are any indication, it must have been one hell of an assignment."

It wasn't phrased as a question. Instead, it was a statement he could choose to answer or not. He breathed deep, slow, letting her hands work over him as he considered how much - if anything -he cared to say.

"Off the record, I think I'm about ready to string Stockwell up and hang him by his big toes for the wild animals to eat alive." He paused for a moment before continuing reflectively. "Maybe fire ants. I've heard interesting things about death by fire ants."

"You might have to stand in line. I'm willing to bet you're not the first person to think about doing that."

"Oh, I'm sure of it."

Her hands never stopped working on his back. Using the heels of her palms, she applied firm pressure, across his shoulders, down his spine and up again. "You know… I don't usually see you so tired and tense." She left "disgusted" out, but it was implied. "You're usually alert, full of energy even when I can't figure out where you get it from."

"Three missions in as many weeks has a tendency to wear on you."

Where the hell did Stockwell even get this stuff, anyways? And what did he do before he had the team wrapped around his finger? It was amazing to Hannibal that every mission he sent them on was some matter of life and death for millions of people, or a catastrophic end of the fragile peace agreements the US government seemed to hold with damn near every other government in the world.

"I had no idea before I came to work for him just how often some communist government poses a so-called legitimate threat of world domination. Or some new chemical weapon is going to destroy the whole planet."

"You think the missions are bogus?" she asked quietly, unassumingly.

"I think the man lies like a politician and cares about as much for my men as for yesterday's newspaper."

She didn't answer. She didn't need to. They both knew the truth in that statement.

He was quiet for a moment. A few deep breaths to calm down, and he started again quietly. "You know, it wasn't too long after we got here that Face said he was leaving. He didn't, and I knew he wouldn't. But I wouldn't have stopped him. And I'm starting to wonder."

The hands on his back stilled. Sighing, he turned slowly, careful not to make her fall. He set his hands on her hips as he pulled her over him again. There was worry and quiet expectancy in her watchful eyes as she waited silently for him to continue.

"Stockwell pulls out all the stops, knows our lives inside and out. He knew things about Face that _none_ of us knew. The man's amassing an awful lot of power. And he wouldn't need it if he was just going to let us walk."

"No," she agreed quietly, lowering her eyes. "He wouldn't."

Her hands came to rest on his chest, tracking lightly over the scars there. He didn't answer, didn't interrupt her. He could tell she was thinking.

"If you serve a purpose for him, he'll want to keep you," she finally continued. "But he has to know that once you decide to go, he can't stop you. Whole armies haven't been able to do that." She smiled knowingly, and with a hint of pride. "Several different armies, I might add."

"I gave him my word."

Suzanne was quiet for a moment. "I hope you got more than his word on this, John. You may have honor and integrity, but he sure as hell doesn't."

"I know that."

"He's good at what he does. But that means getting the job done is the only thing that matters."

"I know that, too."

There was no bitterness towards him for that fact alone. It was a world of politics - one Hannibal himself had tried like hell to avoid. Results were judged; honor was not. He wouldn't expect Stockwell to operate any differently than any other successful politician. But he wasn't just a politician. First and foremost, he should've been a general.

"He lacks the 'us and them' mentality. One would think a war would have shown him that. But the more I see of the men he treats under his command, the more I think that his entire history is a load of shit - whether it's on paper or not."

He'd checked Stockwell out. He would've been a fool not to. The papers reflected what he'd told them. Retired general, then disappeared off the grid. No death certificate, but no tax records or addresses either. No financial information. He was just gone. And Hannibal wouldn't be surprised if the information they had was a fabrication. Suzanne would understand that well enough. Her history on paper was much the same.

"He's playing with fire," Hannibal continued quietly. "My men are damn good. And loyal as hell. But I'm not going to put them through much more of this. I can't."

"You're not putting them through anything, John. They're choosing to do this. It's not just the chance at freedom. It's what they do."

"There's better ways to do it." He turned his head toward her as she lay down beside him. "Trust me, they'd do what they do to the benefit of a hell of a lot more people if Stockwell's hands weren't in the pot."

She smiled faintly as she reached up to stroke the side of his face. "You really hate him, don't you?"

"He's got us all under his thumb. Even Murdock. I don't like that."

"I thought Murdock wasn't part of the official agreement."

"He's not." Hannibal sighed as he turned onto his side and slid his arm around her, pulling her close. "But like I said. My men are loyal as hell."

*X*X*X*

_Jan. 26, 1988, 23:03:22 - Abel 3 surveillance. Murdock arrives at his own apartment. Leaves car parked in spot A4. Enters apartment at 23:06._

The lights were off when he came in the door, but he knew she was there. Her car was outside, and the apartment smelled like incense. Closing the door behind him, he noticed the glow from the hallway - the beam of light from the bathroom door that was cracked open few inches. He knocked quietly, in time with the quiet drip of water in the sink.

"If you're here to stress me out, you can go away. Otherwise you can come in." Beverly's voice, from behind the closed shower curtain, was calm and lazy, and not uninviting.

Pulling the shower curtain back just enough to poke his head in, he smiled. "Hiya darlin'."

She didn't bother opening her eyes. Leaning back with her arms stretched on either side of the tub, covered in tiny, fizzing bubbles, she was beautiful and peaceful. Suddenly, just like that, all of Murdock's exhaustion, anger, worry, frustration, and everything else Stockwell's errands made him feel all slid out of his thoughts. He set his cap on the sink before he leaned down to kiss her hello.

"Bad day?" he asked.

"Not horrible." Finally, she opened her eyes and looked up at him. "We're out of dish soap. Which is a direct result of the fact that we're out of bubble bath. And I didn't feel at all like going up to the store."

"Maybe I should grab the dishes and put them in the tub with you? I could wash, you could rinse."

She gave a mock scowl. "That does not fit with my definition of relaxing, thank you."

He sat on the edge of the tub and trailed his fingers across the mass of Ajax scented bubbles. He was hungry, tired, and in need of a shower. But all that didn't really seem to matter that much right now.

She pulled one foot up, and let the warm, sizzling bubbles trail down her leg. He slid his hand around her calf, and gently pulled her leg over, resting it on his thigh. "Any excitement while I was gone, or did you just sit around and pine away for me?"

"Oh, I thought about you the whole time and never left the bed except to change batteries."

He smiled at the sarcasm as he worked his knuckles into the arch of her foot. "I'm glad to hear that, darling. Working on your stamina is a good thing. A few more trips and you might be able to keep up with me." He ended his teasing challenge with a kiss on her instep, then he went back to rubbing her foot.

"I thought about buying a handheld shower while I was out. But I got distracted by shower curtains and by the way, next time you go away for five days when it's only supposed to be two? Don't be surprised to find I bought a dog by the time you come home."

He smiled softly. It should have only been two days, but Stockwell had neglected to mention a few key points that led to them missing their pick up and scrambling to find a way out of dodge. Still, they had managed to topple a small flesh trade operation in the process of their escape - something that Stockwell seemed less than enthusiastic about. To Murdock, it seemed like time well spent.

"I don't think the landlord or Rodger would be too thrilled with a dog." He paused and looked at her. "I've always wanted a dog though."

"What the landlord doesn't know won't hurt him. And until Rodger can get out of his little hamster cage - which is waiting for you, by the way - and fetch my slippers in the morning, he has no say in the matter."

She was irritable. But in spite of her tone, his mind flashed to a picture of coming back to Bev and a dog. Just the image sent a stab of want though him. The idea felt so... hell, he couldn't even think of the words. So normal, so peaceful - two things his life had never been, and never would be. But it was fun to think about.

"I could try to train Rodger to bring the paper to you, but last time I did that didn't work out too well. He kept doing the crossword puzzle."

"I'm just saying." She closed her eyes again. "You've been duly warned."

"And it's been duly noted."

She let him continue for a moment with her foot, then pulled it away and set it back in the warm, soapy water, sitting up straighter. She shifted carefully so as not to overflow the tub that was full nearly to the top, and moved onto her knees. One soapy finger traveled along his jaw line as the bubbles slowly slid off of her body and back into the tub, and all thoughts shut off as he leaned in and kissed her slowly, deepening it gradually. His hands gravitated to her, gliding across the slick surface of her skin.

As he finally pulled back, he watched her quietly. "I missed you, Bev."

"Good," she said simply. "I'm glad. I've been bored out of my skull sitting here with nothing to do and you not even here to keep me busy."

"What happened to the job?"

"I quit. It bored me to fucking tears. Mindless and repetitive. And it's not like I need the money."

Bored was not ideal, but it wasn't the worst possible scenario, either. After nearly a year of waiting for the other shoe to drop, to find out exactly what Stockwell wanted with her, he still hadn't gotten any kind of answer. He was still waiting. And every time he came home, he was dreading the possibility that Stockwell had made his move - whatever that was. Every time so far, he'd been relieved to find her unharmed.

The arm around her back pulled her close as the other ran through her hair, grabbing it close to the scalp and tugging, pulling her head back. She was trapped, her neck now exposed to him, and she laughed softly. He pressed his face to her neck, rubbing his stubbled cheek up and down. He let his lips brush her soft skin as he made is way up until he whispered, hot and heavy in her ear.

"I think you're done with your bath."

With that, he stood up, pulling her with him. He lifted her over the lip of the tub and set her on her feet. Still dripping wet and streaming warm water and soapy bubbles all over the floor and him, she looked at him with an unreadable expression. "You just pulled me out of my nice warm bath. You'd better have another idea on how to keep my body temperature up."

He smiled as he nipped at her neck, pulling the skin, then kissing and working his tongue over the same spot. "I might be able to think of something to keep you warm, wet and happy."

"Good. Because you've got a lot of makeup work to do if you want to get caught up."

**A/N: Next chapter is an optional insert. It contains sex.**


	3. Insert (Optional, Rated M)

**INSERT**

Beverly could feel herself truly responding - truly feeling - for the first time in days. Bored out of her skull with all that normal life entailed, it seemed the highlight of her life was, repeatedly, when he came home. In a way, it was pathetic. She knew she was capable of so much more than a bored housemistress. But still she stayed...

His hand was on her breast, fingers of the other moving down to the juncture of her thighs, voice low and whispering in her ear. "Open."

She parted her legs slightly, letting him explore as she breathed in deep. Very slowly, she raised her hands up, sliding her fingers into his hair and lacing them together behind his head. "Maybe I missed you," she admitted.

He chuckled. There was no maybe about it, and he knew it. "Maybe? I think we can do better than that."

"I dunno. Double A batteries keep pretty good company. Especially when you're gone more than twice as long as you said you were going to be..."

His fingers slipped into her soft folds, stroking gently, testing her responsiveness. Her hips pushed against his hand, giving him what he was looking for.

"I think you owe me for that disappearing act," she prodded.

"Good thing for you I always pay my debts. With interest."

A second finger slid inside of her, and she sighed softly. "Mmm hmm."

"I guess it's only fair that this one's on me." He kissed her again, slow and gentle, withdrawing his hand from her sex. "How about something you can't get from a battery powered friend?"

Pushing her back a step, he lifted her onto the counter. Then, kneeling in front of her, he put his hands on her knees and pushed her legs open wide, lifting one over his shoulder. She smiled, letting her eyes slide closed as he ran his tongue up and down, tasting her, teasing her.

"Mmm... My battery powered friends definitely can't do that."

He slid his fingers into her, and she tightened down, teasing him with the reminder of just what it would feel like to be buried inside of her. She could feel his enthusiastic response in the way he kissed and licked her.

"Can they do this?"

He switched his fingers to her clit, his tongue licking hard and pressing into her. She groaned, bracing herself on one hand and pushing the other back into his hair, holding him to her. Her breath came harder, faster, and she moaned unashamedly.

"Murdock, I want you in me."

He pulled his mouth away from her, but his fingers kept moving. Standing up, he pulled his gun from his waist band a set it on the shelf. "How much have you missed me, Bev?"

She tipped her head down and her eyes locked on his, dark and almost glowing in their intensity. "Let's just say I've worn out all my existing fantasy memories."

"I can help with that."

Undoing his belt and pants with surprising speed, he pulled her legs around him and pressed into her in one smooth deep thrust. She moaned, and draped her arms around his neck. His hand was behind her back, puller her tighter to him. Suddenly, there was no more thinking, no more teasing, just raw, primal need as he drove into her, their bodies finding that natural rhythm effortlessly.

She lowered her head, nuzzling him before she planted a string of warm, open kisses along his jaw. He felt incredible inside of her, and for a moment, the past week's worth of absolute boredom was all worth it. His breath in her ear, whispering soft, erotic words that painted images in her mind... The salty taste of his skin, that smell of leather and him. Her legs tightened around his waist as her inner muscles clamped down around him. A drop of sweat rolled off of him and onto her. He traced its path with his tongue. The dark look in his eyes brought with it more sensation, more want, more need and more pleasure than she had ever known existed before him.

"How did I live without this," he gasped, rocking with her, his strokes hard and deep. "Without you..."

She arched her back as she felt him come, and gasped loudly. For one blissful moment, it was just the two of them, joined alone in their own private universe. She held on tight to his shoulders, nails digging into hard muscle. Slowly, she relaxed as she dropped her head forward again and smiled, kissing his throat.

"You feel good," she whispered.

He slid his other hand around her back and held her tight to him. "And no batteries required."

She laughed quietly.

The bathroom looked like a tornado had ripped through it - a mess of soapsuds and puddles. At some point, they had knocked everything off the counter and onto the wet floor, and somehow the toothpaste had ended up in the bathtub. Strange that in the middle of all that she felt so fucking perfect.

She nuzzled into him, finally burying her face in his neck as she wrapped her arms around his waist and held him close. "I did miss you," she finally confessed.

"I know, darlin'." He stroked his fingers through her hair. "I missed you, too."

She left light kisses along the collar of his jacket as she pressed in closer, tucking her head under his chin. "I hate sleeping in a cold bed."

"I know. I'm sorry I was late."

She rubbed her cheek against his chest, hands lightly trailing up and down his back, under his jacket. "Next time you disappear you need to leave me an electric blanket and a full size pillow. Oh, and plenty of batteries 'cause I'm just about out."

He chuckled softly. "We could make a emergency kit. Electric blanket, body pillow, batteries, hand held shower, bubble bath... Anything else? Maybe a recording of me telling funny stories?"

"Mmm..." She smiled as she trailed soft kisses up the side of his neck to his ear. "You need to fill my head back up with all those thoughts that make me come."

He let out a sigh as she drew his earlobe between her teeth, pulling gently. "I want to fill you up in more ways than one," he teased back.

She smiled.

"Replenishing those memories would be my pleasure. As is making you come."

He stood up straight, pulling her with him. She stood unsteadily on her feet, watching as he grabbed his pistol and cap, and kicked his pants the rest of the way off so he could walk. He didn't have to speak. A hand on the small of her back guided her out of the bathroom, towards the bedroom. Her eyes followed the pistol as he set it on the bedside table. Then he reached into the pocket of his jacket, and pulled out something he kept hidden, even as he rapidly undressed and climbed into bed with her, pulling the blankets up over them.

She eyed him curiously, a little apprehensive, watching his hand. "It's not alive, is it? Whatever you're hiding in your hand?"

"No. And it doesn't need batteries."

"Good. I think I've had my fill of batteries. At least until you leave again."

"It's nothing huge. Just something I saw that made me think of you. But if you don't _want_ your present..."

He moved his hand away, teasing her. She smiled, and relaxed against him, tucking one arm up under her head as her other hand pressed lightly to his chest. She kissed his chin lightly, and he lowered his hand toward her, opening it. It was a simple, silver link charm bracelet, with one charm. A small, but detailed unicorn.

She laughed quietly. "A unicorn?"

"Do you like it?"

She smiled as she took it gently, and held it up to study the charm. "It's beautiful."

"Good. I had a hell of a time finding something for you."

"You didn't have to bring me anything."  
"I know. I wanted to."

She looked back at him and kissed him lightly. "Thank you."

His eyes were locked on hers as he brushed her hair back, tucking it behind her ear. "Do you have any idea how beautiful you are?" he whispered, his tone completely serious.

"You can tell me if you want," she teased back.

She leaned over and set the bracelet on the bedside table so that it wouldn't end up lost somewhere in the bed. When she came back, she set her hands on his chest and her chin on her hands, watching him with a soft smile.

"You are beautiful, Bev." His eyes were serious, his hand stroking her hair. "You were beautiful the first time I saw you, and you've gotten more beautiful every time since then. It's like this strange type of magic you carry around with you, and you're not even aware of it. The more I get to know you, the more beautiful you become."

She laughed softly and touched his lips with her fingertip. "Flatterer."

He put his hand on hers, kissing her finger, and then her palm. "I'm a terrible liar Bev, I mean every word of it."

She sighed as she moved up and set her head on his shoulder, hugging him loosely as she nuzzled against him. "Either way, it's good just to hear your voice."

"Yeah. You too, darlin'."

She sighed. "I keep wondering why I'm here. Why I sit here and wait for you to come home."

"Get another job if you're bored. Something that interests you more."

"Even if I found one I like, I'd lose it the first time I had to get up and go to work when you were here."

He chuckled softly. "I don't know Bev, the idea of being a house husband has some appeal for me. I could make you breakfast, pack you a lunch, have dinner ready when you came home. Then I would give you nights filled with wild carnal delights."

"Mmm... I'll take wild, carnal delights any time of the day or night."

"That's the sort of thing that will get you fired, darlin'."

"My point exactly."

He didn't answer. Rubbing his hand slowly up and down her back, he simply let the silence engulf them. And in the silence, her mind wandered.

"I don't want to fall in love, Murdock," she admitted quietly. "Not with you, not with anyone."

He was quiet for a long moment before he finally answered. "Why not?"

"Because. It's unknown and it's frightening and I don't like it."

"Life is an unknown. But it still happens."

"Yeah, but I don't have a choice about that."

"What makes you think you have a choice about love?"

"I do. I could stop this."

She believed those words. Judging by the long, respectful silence, he did, too.

"You could," he finally answered. "But then what? Live the rest of your life alone, wondering how it could have been different if you'd had the courage to let go, let someone love you?"

"A lot of people have loved me. I just can't make myself love them back."

"If you have to _make _yourself feel anything, it's not real."

She was quiet for a long moment. Then, finally, she sighed deeply. "I know that. And I know that this... is starting to feel a little more real than I was prepared to deal with. It's nice when you can just wrap it all up and stick it in a box under the bed when you're done with it. But I'm losing the ability to do that. When I pull out the scales and look at all the reasons why I should be long gone, I should be long gone by now."

"And that's a scary thing. But does that make it a bad thing?"

"I don't know."

"The feelings make the hurts hurt more, but the highs... You can't even imagine."

"In the end, it has an expiration date. Like everything else. Like life itself."

"So do you live your life waiting to die?"

"Sometimes. I just can't seem to decide if I want to do it alone, doing what I love, or peacefully but with someone else nearby."

Murdock was quiet for a few seconds, stroking his hand over her hair. "You know, I've seen a lot of people die, Bev. From every walk of life. None of them ever want to die alone. When those last breaths start to rattle, they all willingly take any hand offered to them. And besides, for all you know, the expiration date on this - on love, on life - could be sixty years from now when you're senile and driving your grandkids nuts. Maybe if you figure out how good and right this can be, you can stop worrying about the end and focus on what you have right here, right now."

"I don't know what I have right here and right now. All I know is that it scares the hell out of me. Every time you come home, I'm twisted up in knots because I'm expecting you to say it's over."

"Why would I say that?"

"I don't know. I just always expect to hear it."

He sighed deeply, pulling her in closer. "Bev, I know what it's like to be afraid. I know how bad feelings and emotions can get. I spent fifteen years in the VA hiding from them."

"Yes, I know. You told me."

"Being afraid is normal. Letting that fear keep you hidden... That's a waste. Trust me."

"The fact that I trust you is part of what scares me." Her voice was even, but she could feel the hot trails on her cheeks as his thumb stroked back and forth.

"I don't have all the answers. And I can't keep all the pain away. But I'm not going anywhere. And it's not always this scary. I promise."

"It better not be. I don't know how much more of this I can take."

He wrapped his arms around her tighter, and she moved a leg over his, resting her weight on him. "I've lived my whole like without feeling, Murdock. I guess in a way I'm protected by the fact that I don't know what I'm missing. But I don't want to admit to feeling it because... I'm always just waiting for the other shoe to drop."

He didn't respond right away. Then, finally, he curled his fingers in her hair, gently pulling her head back until their eyes met. She let her mouth open for his kiss, but didn't otherwise react. He was warm and comforting and safe. But it wasn't him she was afraid of.

"I understand, you know," he whispered. "You're used to being safe, hiding, keeping control over everything and making all the decisions."

"When you make your own decisions, you're responsible for your own consequences."

"Yes. You are. But I can give you more than that."

She kept her eyes down for a long moment as she licked her lips. Then, finally, slowly, she drew her eyes up to his, meeting his gaze. She held it for a long moment, jaw working, trying to find words before she finally managed a weak whisper. "You're right. I am scared, Murdock. I'm scared of... what I feel."

It was raw, bleeding, honest truth. And he treated it with the respect and care that she knew he would. "It's okay to be scared," he whispered. "It's safe for you to be scared."

She watched him for a long moment, eyes brimming with tears as she slowly pressed in and brought her lips to his in a light, hesitant kiss. He returned it, his lips firmer than hers but still gentle. It was a chance for her to take what she wanted from him.

She curled in on herself just slightly as the kiss closed. She wasn't pulling away, but she couldn't feel this level of vulnerability without some reaction. The responses had been too firmly engrained - close up, get away, hide. Fighting against those instincts only made her feel even more vulnerable and frightened.

He shifted his position, turning her onto her back, holding her wrist gently and moving it over her head. "Don't hide from me," he pleaded softly.

She shut her eyes, but she could still feel his gaze raking over her, seeing everything. He nuzzled her gently, kissing her forehead, eyelids, cheeks, lips, neck. There the kisses mixed in with the soft play of his teeth on her skin.

"You have nothing to hide, Bev," he whispered. "I see it all. And it's absolutely beautiful."

She let her eyes slide closed, relaxing beneath him, breathing shallow as his eyes and kisses trailed over her, exposing her. "Murdock?"

"What?"

She held his gaze, that scared and vulnerable feeling just as strong now as it had been before. If anything, it was stronger now. She licked her lips lightly, and drew in a slow, shaky breath before she managed in a soft, barely audible whisper, "Make love to me."

She swallowed hard, and slowly brought a hand up to the back of his head, pulling him a little closer so that she could nuzzle against him. It wasn't just to be closer. It was to avoid eye contact. Those words seared her. In her life, she'd had a lot of sex. But she'd never had a partner, let alone a lover.

"No games," she breathed. "Just you. I just need to feel you."

"You have me," he answered, moving his lips to her ear. He opened the hand around her wrist, trailing just his fingertips down her arms past her elbows, grazing the soft skin over her shoulder to her collar bone. "This is real."

His hand rested on her neck as he kissed her, long and slow and passionately. She let her fingertips run lightly over his side, hesitant to touch him even as she melted into his kiss. It was amazing how their bodies fit and felt together.

"Relax, Bev."

He paused to pull gently on her earlobe as his hand found its way to her breast, caressing her first with his fingers, and then with his tongue.

"Just relax and enjoy."

She let her eyes slide closed as she arched her shoulders, pressing closer to his mouth. Her hands in his hair, nails raking his scalp lightly, her breath came ragged as she moaned softly. Only her irregular breathing interrupted the silence in the room. Eyes closed, she let him explore her. The muscles in her thighs tensed naturally, instinctively, as she pushed up against him, but he held her open, moving to brace over top of her.

She gasped, a high sound of pleasure as his body locked with hers - two perfect pieces of the same puzzle. Without thought, she returned his kiss, sliding her tongue along his, tasting herself in his mouth. Her hands moved from his hair, nails raking along his shoulders, down his back, her entire body arching up to meet him. His words were lost, but the mere sound of his voice made her shiver with pleasure.

"You're so warm. So right. So damn beautiful."

The high, tight sounds of pleasure were all that interrupted her labored breathing. Sliding the arch of her foot along his calf, she brought her legs up and hooked them together around his waist, clenching him tight with her thighs, her arms, her inner muscles. There was no thought to it, no effort. She just needed to hold him with everything she had.

She turned her head towards him, cheek to cheek, feeling the warmth of his skin and the beads of perspiration that mixed and mingled with hers. Closeness. Oneness. She was surrounded by him, protected, and she felt it in every fiber of her being. Her eyes opened as she felt her whole body begin to pulse in time with his rhythm, that climax approaching by no effort of her own. Breathing his scent, feeling his body, hearing his breath in her ear, staring up at the ceiling as she felt the response, knew it was inevitable.

"Murdock?"

"Hmm?" He was too breathless to answer more fully.

"I love you..."

"I love you, too."

She gasped his name as she felt him come. She was seconds behind. Nothing could've really prepared her for the sudden rush of pleasure that shot through her, or the emotions that came with it. She gasped loudly, her back arching, hands moving instinctively to the back of his head and holding him as she spiraled, letting her body feel with no semblance of control.

She shook as her hips jerked against his, thrusting until her energy was spent and she fell back, gasping. Legs sprawled, all tension released, body relaxed. She couldn't move if she'd wanted to. She turned her head to the side as she stilled, and realized somewhere in the back of her mind that the pain she felt in her eyes meant they were watering. She shut them as she breathed deep, trying to draw herself back under control.

"It's okay," he whispered. "Just take your time and ease down. I'm not going anywhere."

"Promise me."

He took a slow, deep breath, wrapping his arms around her as he turned onto his back. "I promise."

She settled over top of him, aware that she was clinging and not caring.It was several long, silent minutes before her grip began to loosen. Then slowly, her breathing grew deeper, steadier, and she nuzzled her head into his shoulder with a soft moan as she slowly drifted off to sleep.


	4. Chapter Two

**CHAPTER TWO**

_Jan. 27, 1988, 10:31:49 - Debriefing from assignment 42 in Upper Volta._

The look on Stockwell's face spoke volumes. "This is all you recovered?"

Hannibal smiled as he sat down on the sofa, reclining comfortably. "There's probably a half a million dollars worth of untraceable, uncut diamonds there, Stockwell. Let's not get greedy."

"Greed is not the issue," Stockwell replied, rolling the word like it left a bad taste in his mouth.

Hannibal smiled. What Stockwell knew and what he could prove about the quantity that should be on the table were two very different things. Especially where uncut, untraceable diamonds were concerned. They were a black market profiteer's dream, and when they'd shown up on the market in the Middle East, it hadn't taken long to attract Stockwell's attention.

"How much were you expecting?" Face asked. It could have been directed to anyone in the room for all the enthusiasm he put into it.

Stockwell's expression was unreadable as he stared at him. "When I heard that four million dollars worth of diamonds had been stolen, naturally I figured you would recover close to four million."

"Four million dollars worth of diamonds disappeared from Russia," Hannibal reminded him, his tone slightly irritated. "And somewhere between Moscow and the quiet little Middle Eastern region of the Upper Volta, three and a half million in diamonds disappeared. Probably into the black market, where uncut diamonds are conveniently untraceable."

Hannibal sat back, eyes fixed on Stockwell. "Now, if you wanted four million dollars worth of diamonds, you should've had us rob Tiffany's. You sent us to stop weapons deals. And you sent us there after those deals were _well _under way. We can't travel through time. If you want us to prevent currency from disappearing, you have to send us after it before it's been spent. It's simple logic."

Stockwell was ready to play. Hannibal could see it in his eyes. The first flicker of irritation, and he dropped his hands. "Well, if this is all you have recovered, then perhaps you need to return to Upper Volta and determine where the rest of them are. Three-point-five million dollars could buy a lot of difficulties for the United States, especially in such an already-volatile territory. It may be in our best interest to send you back until you are able to track down the whereabouts of these diamonds."

Frankie rolled his eyes. "Gimme a break. You want us to go trace _untraceable_ diamonds in the Middle East? You _been _to the Middle East recently?"

"You got your diamonds," BA snapped. "They ain't even yours. I ain't gonna go look for the rest of them."

"Actually, he has a point," Face said. "Technically, they belong to someone in Russia."

Stockwell stared at Hannibal. He was sizing him up. Hannibal could feel it like a physical sensation. He was trying to figure out if the potential fight was worth the outcome. In the wild, this would have been the point where there was beating of chest and posturing. Hannibal smiled confidently.

"With that type of money, a terrorist could launch quite a large attack," Stockwell said. "If you can't find the missing diamonds, I'm sure you will be able to find out what they were used for, and stop it."

Hannibal shrugged. "It's your dime. But it might be a very lengthy trip. It sure would tie us up for a long time."

"I don't know about you guys," Face sighed, "but I'm up for an extended vacation on Stockwell's dime."

Stockwell glared at him briefly. "Lieutenant, I am glad to see you're finally finding enjoyment in your work."

Twenty years ago, in Vietnam, this would've been the point where Face answered with one finger. Instead, now he only smiled. "Anything for the stockholders, right?"

Murdock wasn't quite so able to spare a smile. He'd been silent from the moment Stockwell had arrived. Now, he shot a dark glance at Hannibal and shoved his hands further into his pockets. It was clear that a lengthy trip back to the Middle East sounded about as much fun to him as swimming with piranhas. But the odds were drastically in Hannibal's favor that Stockwell was bluffing. He didn't want them tied up in the Middle East any more than they wanted to be tied up there.

Hannibal stared him down with a smile. "I gotta tell ya, Stockwell, there's a hell of a lot of terrorists to round up over there. We'll be busy for a long while."

Murdock's jaw clenched. "Might screw up some of your other plans."

Hannibal glanced at Murdock, and shrugged. "At least the weather's nice. Especially this time of year."

"I'm glad to see you are all so willing to do the right thing." Stockwell wasn't backing down. Not yet. "It's a refreshing change."

"The right thing?" Hannibal chuckled. "Like I said. It's your dime."

It was ironic, really. They were more like mercenaries for hire now than they ever had been when they were living on the wrong side of the law. Wherever Stockwell sent them, they went. And the whole damn thing was a matter of money and power for their "client".

The stare-down continue for another moment, but it was evident that Hannibal had raised and called, and Stockwell was holding the losing hand this time. Finally, Stockwell gave a small inclination of his head. "Alright, well, as you say, Colonel Smith, sending you back at this point would leave you indisposed for a rather long time. And unfortunately," he picked up a folder from his desk and held it out to Hannibal, "your services are required elsewhere. Tomorrow."

Frankie groaned loudly. "Are you kidding me? We just got back!"

Hannibal smiled. "I feel so appreciated, General. Thank you for brightening my day."

"You're quite welcome."

The cold tone underscored the vicious pleasure he took at reminding them they where his. Hannibal only smiled as he took the file from Stockwell's hand and tossed it on the coffee table. The one good thing about it was that any doubt Hannibal had been harboring about his ability to read - and call - Stockwell's bluff was again dispelled. He'd had no intention of sending them back to the Middle East. The thought had probably never even entered his mind on any level that it might be an actual threat. He was just trying to pull rank. It was the same thing he was trying to do with comments like that - comments that only earned him a broad smile from Hannibal.

Hannibal's smile remained in place as he watched Stockwell head out and glanced at Murdock. "You alright, Captain? You seem quiet."

Murdock rocked on his heels. "Right as rain, Colonel," he said dryly. "Just thinking of all those pretty explosions we're going to miss hunting terrorists in the Middle East."

Hannibal chuckled. "I'm sure we can stir up some explosions wherever we end up tomorrow. Make sure you get some rest in our whole twenty-four hours of stand down."

"Right." Murdock offered a two-finger salute, took a quick glance at the guys, and headed for the door.

Hannibal remained seated as BA and Frankie followed him out, and turned his head just in time to look through the window as Stockwell pulled out of the driveway. There was something downright oppressive about the fact that that man wandered in and out of their living space at will. They had escaped one prison only to be moved into a prettier one. Even after a whole year of living like this, it still felt foreign.

Shaking his head silently, Hannibal looked at the file - the incomplete file - on the desk. If Stockwell wanted it reviewed by tomorrow's briefing, that probably meant it already contained most of the information they were going to get. The fact that they would only be getting bits and pieces of the truth wasn't worth getting angry over. Instead, Hannibal simply stood and picked up the folder with complete disinterest. It would make good bedtime reading material.

"Hannibal?" Face's voice was low as he approached. He had that look again. Hannibal knew what he was going to say before he said it.

"What's on your mind, Lieutenant?"

There was a damn good chance the room was bugged. And what was on Face's mind came with inherent risk. The conversation was kept sterile as Face handed him a folded slip of paper. "I need to take a walk."

Hannibal slipped the paper into his breast pocket and exchanged it for his cigar. He couldn't begrudge Face's need to escape. They all needed some time off. And if all they had was one night, it wasn't surprising that Face had already made plans to make the best of it.

"You alright?"

Face pushed a hand through his hair, shifting uncomfortably. "That man makes me crazy."

Hannibal chuckled. "That man could drive Mother Teresa to violence. It's a gift he has. Probably comes with his obsessive need to control and oppress."

Watching Face, he could almost feel the tension radiating off of him. It was almost ridiculous the way Stockwell seemed bound and determined to drive them until they dropped. Even when they were in the Army, in a war, they had more time to relax and unwind then they did now. The military knew how important stand down was, to say nothing of R&R. Stockwell didn't give a damn.

"Looks like you could use a nice relaxing walk, Face." Hannibal grinned knowingly. "Just don't overdo it. There's a good chance we'll have to move out tomorrow morning, so you may want to make this a sprint and not a marathon."

Face smirked back. "Move out? Come on, Hannibal, you're makin' me homesick." He glanced away. "We don't move out anymore. We're shipped. Like cattle."

His point was clear. But the odd choice of words wasn't only for amusement's sake. If Stockwell did have someone listening in, they'd never be able to tell exactly when they were talking in code and when they were talking plainly.

Cigar clamped between his teeth, Hannibal paused to light it. "Try not to think of us as cattle. Think of us prize winning pure breed stallions, being loaned out for stud." He grinned as he replaced his lighter in his pocket. "Reframing it helps."

Face smirked. "Right. Well before he studs me out tomorrow, I'm gonna go for that walk. I'll be back before you miss me."

Hannibal took a puff on his cigar, letting the smoke roll around his mouth for a second. As he exhaled, he studied his cigar for a second. Even while trapped behind Stockwell's own version of the iron curtain, Face somehow managed to get Hannibal's favorite cigars. He never even had to ask; they just appeared.

Looking back at Face, he gave a reassuring smile. "Enjoy your walk, Lieutenant."

Face nodded, and gave a slight smile in return. "Thanks."

There was no doubt in Hannibal's mind that he meant it.

_Jan. 27, 1988, 10:48:51 - Living room security video/audio surveillance. Peck talks to Smith. Peck will be seeing Jessica Summers tonight._

*X*X*X*

_Jan. 27, 1988, 20:33:12 - Abel 14 surveillance. Peck leaves compound on foot and travels through wooded area across Rendal St. Follow on foot until trail stops at Borant St. Assume he hitchhiked as entire 5 mile radius was canvassed earlier today for abandoned vehicles. Unable to follow._

Face groaned as Jessica dug the heels of her palms into the tight muscle on either side of his spine. "You're turning me to Jello, baby."

He could _feel_ her grin at that. "All part of my wicked plan."

He laughed into his arms. "Hold me prisoner because I can't move?"

"Yup." She shifted, moving off of him, and gave him a pat on the ass. "Roll over."

He took a deep breath and slowly rolled onto his back, leaving his hands resting loosely on either side of his head as he stared up at the ceiling of the cheap motel room.

"He's got us going out again tomorrow," he mumbled. "We got back less than twenty-four hours ago, and he's sending us somewhere else."

Jessica straddled his thighs, adding a little more lotion to her hands. Slowly, she leaned forward, kissing him firmly in the lips, letting her hands run up his chest. Pulling away, she smiled down at him.

"Don't think about that right now," she whispered softly, calmly, kneading the muscles of his shoulders and upper chest. "Just relax and enjoy."

He shut his eyes as she placed her hands flat, sweeping along his skin with a firm, sure touch.

"Let me do the work."

An involuntary smile crept across his lips. "You deserve a raise."

Laughing softly she worked along his abs and down to his thighs. "You're usually very good about raises."

At that, she wrapped her hand around his cock. He groaned again, more loudly than he'd intended. He hadn't realized until she touched him just how much he wanted her right now. He'd known the position she was putting him in when he'd turned around, but he hadn't really thought about it. It took her hand around him to send the desire racing through his veins and the blood rushing to his groin.

"Argh… Jess…"

Moving down his legs, she stroked him slowly, even as she leaned down and kissed the head of his cock. With one hand sliding down to its base, the other trailed up his thigh. Lips and tongue played over the soft, smooth skin before she slowly took him all the way into the warm, wet recesses of her mouth.

He was in heaven. He sighed deeply, and slowly moved his hand to the back of her head. He didn't hold her, just stroked her hair, running his fingers through it. She hummed against him, letting the vibrations play against his shaft as she worked up and down his length. He almost forgot to breathe as she slowly, steadily increased the depth and pace until she took him in all the way to the base, swallowing him.

He couldn't hold back the moan and he didn't try. His hand tightened in her hair, far enough from her head that he wouldn't hurt her, and the nails of his other hand scraped the mattress.

"Jess... Close..."

He could feel that tightening in his groin, the tingling pleasure that warned he was losing control. She pulled back, only to press down again until he could feel the back of her throat. Her hand moved down to cup him, caressing and tugging softly. It was more than he could take. He dropped his head back, shoulders arching off the bed as he gasped in pleasure. Her throat tightened as she swallowed. He let himself fall, hips jerking involuntarily, hot pleasure racing through him, releasing into her until finally, he was spent.

The warmth of afterglow spread through him as he slowly relaxed, breathing hard. He released his grip on her hair, stroking her scalp lightly again as he moaned her name with a smile on his lips. "God, I needed that."

She slowly, carefully licked him clean. Then, with a few lingering, gentle kisses, she moved up beside him. Draping her arm over his chest, she put her head on his shoulder and her leg over his, completing the embrace.

"Do you feel better?"

"I do." He tipped his head against hers, nuzzling her gently. "Thank you."

"You're welcome." She smiled as she reached for the edge of the blanket and pulled it up around them. "But I'm nowhere near done with you yet."

The last thing she saw was his smile before she pulled the blanket over both their heads, plunging them into darkness.


	5. Chapter Three

**CHAPTER THREE**

_Jan. 28, 1988, __07:29:23 Abel 12 surveillance. Attempted to contact Murdock per request after inability to establish contact via phone. No answer at door of his apartment. No answer at door of neighboring apartment of Beverly Richards._

_Jan. 28, 1988, __08:00:00 Briefing for assignment 43 to South Africa._

"Where is Peck?"

The irritated question received only a smile from Hannibal at first. He would've been asking the same question if he hadn't already gotten the phone call about thirty minutes ago. Face had slept right through the alarm that was supposed to get him back to the compound before dawn. He'd be arriving in a few minutes. Until then, Hannibal could keep Stockwell plenty occupied.

"He went for a morning stroll."

Frankie snickered. "You know Face. Likes to stay in shape and all."

"Perhaps he should use the gym we have situated for that very purpose," Stockwell answered dryly.

Hannibal smiled. "He likes the fresh air."

"Well, if his affinity for fresh air continues to interfere with his ability to perform his duties, then perhaps we will need to look into personal escorts."

Hannibal just smiled. Personal escorts only worked when they were willing to be escorted, and Stockwell knew it.

Frankie grinned. "Can I get a blonde this time?"

Leaning back in his chair, Stockwell placed his hands together. He dismissed Frankie's comment with a brief glance, then looked back to Hannibal. "I don't suppose you know where your pilot is, either."

Hannibal raised a brow, innocently. "That's normally your department, Stockwell. He doesn't live here, remember?"

Stockwell's smile was cold and unamused. "Yes, Colonel Smith I am aware of that fact."

"Well, why didn't you pick him up this morning, on your way over?"

"Because he wasn't at his apartment."

"Maybe he was at work?"

The expressionless gaze was answer enough.

"Seeing as he has shown a particular level of… devotion to you, I suspect he would advise you of his whereabouts if he was not anywhere he was expected to be."

"Devotion?" Hannibal chuckled. "I believe it's called loyalty. You know. To one's country? Commanding officer? Team? But probably _not _to the man who likes to wrap a hand around his leash to make it shorter."

Hannibal's smile never fell, his light tone never held any hint of seriousness. He might've been talking about the weather.

"That's a very quaint description, Colonel, but it doesn't change that fact that you have a mission to accomplish and your 'loyal' teammates are missing."

No sooner had he finished speaking than the front door opened and Face strolled casually into the room, hands in his pockets and smiling.

He tipped his head just slightly at Hannibal, then turned his attention towards the General as he shed his coat and kicked off his snowy boots. "Stockwell. Pleasure's always yours, I'm sure."

Frankie grinned broadly at Face as he walked over to the leather couch and sat down, not paying Stockwell any extra or unneeded attention.

"Good of you to find time to join us, Lieutenant."

Face nodded his acknowledgment.

Glancing at the clock, Stockwell shook his head. "My time is valuable. So you can fill Captain Murdock in when he manages to arrive."

He nodded toward the TV and Carla stepped toward it, starting the presentation of their next mission. Hannibal watched with only mild interest. He'd read the file, and he was sure the slide presentation wouldn't be too much more fascinating.

An aerial photo of a lush tropical canopy appeared on the screen, followed by a tighter shot of an industrial compound. Several sterile-looking, windowless, white buildings. Chemical tankers, people in lab coats and hair nets entering and leaving locked and guarded doors. Great.

"Gentlemen, this is Biotex. A supposedly independent biochemical company working on a pesticide in the South African jungle, with the cooperation of the government. What their host country doesn't know is that Biotex has actually been hired to develop a vicious biochemical warfare agent for our friends in Libya."

Face sighed audibly. "I just love hearing words like 'vicious biochemical warfare' alongside our standard 'suicide mission.'"

"I have just received satellite confirmation that this man," on the screen a short heavyset man with close set eyes and a receding hair line appeared, "is on site. Dr. Thomas Depas. He is the head research scientist. It was his brother who sold the contract to the Libyans.

Hannibal was less than amused, and he didn't try to fake any level of enthusiasm. "That compound has been there a while," he said dryly. "Is this a new project or an old one we just conveniently overlooked until it reached some catastrophic level?"

"We had no conclusive evidence about this project until earlier this week. And until yesterday morning, we couldn't confirm that Dr. Depas was actually there."

"What difference does it make if he's there?"

"Because I intend to have a team in place to follow him. He has some additional information I want, but that is not your concern."

"What," Frankie asked, "exactly, is our concern?"

"The project is advanced enough that testing on local animal life has begun." The photos now were distinctly unpleasant. "We cannot afford the risk of a hostile government getting a hold of this. Dr. Depas will keep all of his notes, formulas, and the chemical agent itself on site with him. Diagrams of the facility and the lab - including the vault where we suspect the agent is being stored - are in your folders. You are charged with bringing the samples and the notes back; the facility is to be destroyed."

Hannibal frowned as he crossed his arms loosely over his chest. "So how long do we have to accomplish this impressive task before whatever attracted your attention about this hits the fan?"

Stockwell offered a trademark cold smile. "You have 48 hours. If you miss the pick up, you will be, of course, on your own."

Hannibal chuckled as he exchanged glances with the team, but it was entirely without humor. "Forty-eight hours. I love it." He stood up. "In that case I guess we'd better get moving. BA, Frankie, get the weapons packed."

"Right."

"Face?"

Face raised a brow in answer.

"See if you can get a hold of Murdock. He's not answering at his apartment."

*X*X*X*

Bev's panting breath in his ear sent a shiver down his back. Murdock could feel the pressure building as he pressed into her, deeper and deeper. A drop of sweat rolled off of him on onto her, and he traced its path with his tongue, savoring the taste of the two of them combined. But it was the look on her face that caused more sensation, more want, need and intense pleasure than he'd ever thought possible. It was the real her - the one that only he got to see. Wild and unbridled. That look drove him into her; it drove him mad for her. It made him want to go one like this for ever, even as it made him fight to not lose control.

"God, Bev…" How had he lived without this?

"Please…"

There was no stopping the sensation when it came. Everything except for her suddenly ceased to exist and for one blissful moment it was just the two of them, joined alone in their own private universe. He let his body take over as he plunged deep into her and came with a primal cry.

She arched up as she gasped, tightening so hard around him the pleasure was almost painful. She had one arm around his shoulders, the other under the pillow, and she was laughing as she gradually came back down. He smiled, nuzzling her, and slid his hand up her arm, all the way under the pillow, until his fingertips brushed the familiar, cool metal of the gun she was clutching. Her eyes danced as she looked up at him, and he chuckled.

"What kind is it?" he asked, stroking the inside of her wrist.

Her smile grew. "You wanna guess?"

He laughed again. "I think I should be a little worried about how your eyes light up whenever you talk about guns. It's the same look Face gets when he sees untraceable bearer bonds."

She was beaming now. "Is that a no?"

Letting his fingers graze over the metal, he felt the size and shape, smiling to himself. He knew what this was. She had switched it up; it wasn't the same as last time. Giving her a quick, firm kiss on the lips, he rolled slightly so that he was lying on his side next to her. He rested his arm over her stomach in a loose embrace and smiled at her.

"What do I get if guess right?"

"We can negotiate. What would you like?"

"I would like world peace, and a million dollars. But I am willing to settle for a favor to be disclosed later." He kissed her shoulder, fingers played over her skin.

"Hmm..." Bev turned toward him, sliding her leg between his and curling in close to him. "Alright. I suppose favors are acceptable currency."

Giving her a cocky grin he slid into a British accent. "That, darling, is a 40 cal. semi auto."

"Very good."

"Do I get extra points if I tell you the maker?"

She laughed quietly and slid her hand down his side before grinning up at him. "Enlighten me. Who made it?"

"Beretta," he said without hesitating. Murdock had spent a life time around guns; he was very good at this game and he knew it. "So that's two favors for me."

She chuckled. "Somehow I think you cheated."

He grinned, not the least bit offended by the mock accusation. "I don't need to."

"Well you did _touch _it. So that's sort of cheating."

"Hmm."

Nuzzling against her neck, he concentrated on breathing in her scent. Nothing else, no one else smelled like her. And he wanted to remember it for the times he was gone. Pulling back a little, he smiled down at her. "Hmm. I think I wanna use one of those favors now."

"Well we just had amazing sex and I know you're not ready to go again yet. So what more could you want?"

She turned onto her back again, letting her hands rest loosely by her head. Tucking a lose strand of hair behind her ear, he smiled at her.

"I'd like to know what's been botherin' you so much when I'm gone."

There was no accusation or condemnation, just concern. She seemed almost as wound up and miserable when he got back from one of Stockwell's deadly errands as he was.

With a sigh, she turned her head away, hesitating before speaking quietly. "I'm just bored, Murdock. There's even less to do here than there was in Hawaii. The idea of being a happy homemaker, or going shopping to kill time, or getting some mundane job... It just doesn't appeal in the least."

Murdock grimaced at the image of her as a homemaker or a combat shopper. "Well, you got the brains and experience to be just about anything. From what Face says, that stuff the corporate raiders do in the boardroom isn't that far off from legalized profiteering."

She rolled her eyes. "Please. I'm not that kinda girl. I didn't even graduate high school and I have no desire to go back and pretend like I did. Business suits do nothing for me."

"Alright. Well, do _you _have any ideas?"

She was quiet for a moment before she finally answered, reflectively. "I don't know. Andre ran more than just guns. Things I don't ever want to be involved with again. But the guns themselves..."

He frowned as he considered it. Pushing her back in the direction of gun running was definitely out. For one thing, he didn't want her dead. For another, even though he wasn't bothered by larceny, putting guns into the hands of fanatics and killers wasn't something he wanted any part of. And it certainly wasn't anything he wanted to encourage. But there had to be something out there for her that wasn't mundane.

He could tell she was thinking about it just by the way she smiled, and her hands moved from the open and vulnerable position by her head, sliding down her body sensually. And there was that odd, sensation again - the one she seemed to be able to call up in him at will. He could feel the stillness come over him as that thing, that darkness, rattled around his chest.

He put a hand on hers and locked his eyes on hers. "Bev…"

The guns were her weakness, her addiction, and her biggest temptation. The way she looked when she had a gun, the way she moved when she thought about them, it was like she was thinking of her lost lover.

She looked away. "I know you don't approve. I'm just saying."

One of his hands went to her thigh. The other ran up her body. Pulling her in tight, he kissed her hard, deeply. Then he pulled back to look in her eyes. She was smiling, her voice low and seductive as she continued. "You know, when I _was _running guns, I was very, _very _good at it."

He smiled. "I don't doubt that."

She drew his earlobe between her teeth, pulling gently, probing with her tongue at the soft pressure point under his ear until a knock at the door had her suddenly bounding out of bed with a teasing grin.

"I'll get it!"

_Jan. 28, 1988, __08:52:39 Peck knocks on door of Murdock's apartment._

It took a moment for the deja vu to settle in as Bev headed for the door wearing nothing but that smile, winking over her shoulder at him.

"Umm, Bev? Clothes?"

He pulled the sheet with him, following her. Halfway to the front door, she picked up her panties off the living room floor and put them on, barely breaking a stride. With another smile and ever-so-casually, she grabbed his jacket off the back of the sofa and called out, "Who is it?"

It was Face. He knew that by the pattern. But the sight of her in only his jacket and a pair of red panties... He couldn't think. He was so focused on her, he tripped on the sheet and ended up on the floor just as Face's muffled voice called through the door. She didn't bother looking out the peep hole before she pulled the door open for him.

"Hey. Come on in."

He was still trying to extract himself from the sheet when Face stepped inside. But Face wasn't looking at him. Brow raised in amusement, he eyed Bev. "Nice outfit."

"Thank you." She smiled. "I'm fond of it."

Face's attention shifted to Murdock, and his amusement grew even more. As did his grin. "Am I uh... interrupting something?"

Bev shut the door behind him with a smile, but didn't answer. Instead she just winked at Murdock in his crumpled sheet and headed for the kitchen, excusing herself wordlessly from the conversation. Scrambling up in a flurry of limbs and sheets, Murdock tried to muster as much dignity as possible.

"Whatever gave you that idea?"

This time, Face didn't even try to hold back the quiet chuckle. He took a step closer and lowered his voice a bit. "I hate to be the bearer of bad news. But since you chose not to answer the door when Stockwell knocked this morning, you know why I'm here."

"Damn it." Murdock glanced over his shoulder at Bev, then lowered his head. "Alright. Can you give me ten minutes?"

Face nodded. "No problem. I'll wait outside."

It took him less than two minutes to shower; that was a skill he learned in the Army. Bev was watching him has he brushed his teeth. It wasn't until he had finished his with his shave that he turned and spoke to her. "Sorry, Darlin', I gotta go."

"I know," she answered quietly.

He gave her a kiss - slow, steady and deep. Then he grabbed his boxers from the neat pile of folded clothes on her sink. Pulling them and yanking a t-shirt over his head. He pulled up his khaki's, zipping them before he turned to look at her

She shrugged her shoulders out of his jacket, letting it fall down her arms, then held it out for him on one finger. "I suppose you'll need this."

She was beautiful. That thought stopped him in his tracks. Taking the jacket, he pulled her naked body tight against him. "This," he held her close, "is what I need."

The kiss he gave her was deep and hot, full of passion and promise. It was time to go, he was sure. Stockwell had a deadline. The miserable son of a bitch lived by deadlines. Breaking the kiss, he pulled away slowly.

"I'll be back."

He cupped the side of her face and gave her one last quick kiss before sliding his jacket on, moving for the door.

"Murdock?"

She didn't turn as she called him. But he stopped. "Yeah?"

"I think I'm gonna go on a little vacation. Get out of this hell hole. While you're away."

The hair on the back of his neck stood up and he hesitated in the doorway. He wanted to ask where she was going, to know what she would be doing. But he was leaving her with no warning, no way to contact him and no information. What made him think he had any right to ask her anything?

"Don't worry if I'm not here when you get back, okay?"

He nodded reluctantly and gave a small smile. "If I'm gone more than three days, I'll leave a message on the machine."

She nodded.

"I love you."

She smiled tightly, stepping close to the edge of the doorway and leaning on it. "I know."

He moved closer, slipped his hand through her hair, and kissed her one last time, letting her scent surround him. Honeysuckle, her and sex. Damn, he needed to go. Smiling at her, he slowly dropped his hand and headed out to where Face was waiting.

_Jan. 28, 1988, __09:03:13 Abel 14 surveillance. Peck and Murdock leave Murdock's apartment._

***X*X*X***

"Beverly Richards just bought a one way ticket to San Antonio."

Stockwell looked up from his paperwork, and frowned. "Leaving when?"

"This evening at six." Carla stood straight and still, perfectly calm with her hands folded in front of her. "Do you wish to detain her?"

Stockwell considered it quietly. "No. Not yet." Stockwell traced the edge of the legal pad in front of him with the tip of his finger. "There are a few things I'll need to put in order first."

"With a one way ticket, she may not have any intention of coming back."

"She's restless," Stockwell said confidently. "Once she finds there's nothing left for her in San Antonio, she'll return."

"Or she will simply rebuild it."

Stockwell frowned. That would cause far more problems than he cared to deal with. "Send Empress 3 to keep an eye on her."

"Empress 3 is currently in Salt Lake City."

"Call him back. She's more important."

"What is it you want him to do, if not to detain her?"

"Make sure she comes home. Preferably of her own volition."

Carla nodded slowly. "The preparations that are yet to be put in place," she started a bit hesitantly. "Would you like me to see to those?"

"No." He sighed as he considered the full implications of the latest report, and shook his head slowly. "She isn't ready yet. The fact that she is running back to San Antonio is only further proof of that."


	6. Chapter Four

**CHAPTER FOUR**

Deadline. Murdock hated it. It had never bothered him before. Even in the Army, where life itself had an expiration date, it hadn't bothered him in the least. Time frames and due dates… the world ran on a clock. It kept order, and made the sun rise and fall. But Stockwell's deadlines were different. Stockwell's deadlines were what turned an ordinary mission into a kamikaze one.

"Face, can you get to that window up there?" Hannibal's voice was tense.

"I'll pick the lock easier than -"

The sound of shattering glass interrupted him and Murdock forced his eyes open to see the glass door fall apart under the blow from BA's pistol grip. Hannibal barely paused. Face stopped only long enough for a quick remark. "That works, too."

Murdock grit his teeth, squeezing his eyes shut as he leaned heavily on Hannibal. He barely had the strength to stand, much less to walk. Not that he could walk anyways. Hot, sticky blood was pouring from his leg at an alarming rate, in spite of the tourniquet. As BA ducked under his other arm, his head lulled forward, too heavy for his shoulders.

Fade. Blackness.

He awoke with a startled cry as a stab of pain shot through him. Reflexes made him jerk against the hands that were holding him still. "Shh, Murdock, you're alright."

Face. Pain. Murdock tried to stay still as he felt Hannibal's hands on his leg, searching for the bullet that was clearly embedded somewhere close to a nerve. A muted sob, Murdock shuddered, and his nails raked the countertop he was lying on, clawing for something to hang on to. Where was he? Everything was so fuzzy. Rows and rows of rickety shelves with food and small items. Store of some kind. Not as primitive as some that Murdock had seen, but it sure wasn't Wal-Mart. Whatever the hell these people had that Stockwell wanted was beyond -

Hannibal hit that nerve and Murdock almost screamed. The pain was startling even more than it was intense - a white hot flash that he didn't know could be so blindingly intense. "Sorry, Captain," Hannibal said quietly.

Breathing hard, eyes squeezed shut, Murdock turned his head and pressed his cheek against the cool countertop. He could feel the sweat pouring off of his face. Whether from the pain or the humid heat, he wasn't sure. "It's okay," he gasped. "Just… can you just give me a second?"

"I've almost got it, Murdock," Hannibal said quickly. He was all business. In a way, that was comforting; Hannibal knew what he was doing. But at the same time, the professionalism lessened his capacity for sympathy. They had to stop the bleeding. They had to get the bullet out before they sewed the wound shut.

Murdock knew all of this. But the blinding pain and blood-loss vertigo made his own capacity for logic somewhat inebriated. "Hannibal, please…"

"If I stop, I'm going to have to find it again."

That was a no. Murdock shut his eyes and drew in a long, steadying breath.

"Face, see what kind of painkillers they've got here. No asprin."

With one hand on his leg to hold it still, BA put his other hand in Murdock's to give him something to hold on to. As Hannibal dug for the bullet, Murdock brought his other hand up to his mouth and bit down on his finger until it bled.

"Hold still. I think I've got it."

Murdock groaned in pain. "I'm trying."

"BA, hold him."

Murdock cried out as Hannibal scraped bone and nerve and God knows what else but damn it, _all _of it hurt. Then, suddenly, he withdrew, "Got it," and Murdock gasped his relief as he heard the bullet clatter to the countertop.

"You did good, man. You did good."

He groaned as he held BA's hand tighter. "Hurts…"

"BA, give me that vodka," Hannibal ordered.

"Nnnh, give _me_ that vodka," Murdock slurred.

As the adrenaline faded, he could feel the dizziness seeping in. Hannibal answered, said something to him, but Murdock couldn't make it out. Everything around him was retreating down a long dark tunnel.

"Murdock!"

Eyes open, dizziness. Face was standing over him, holding out a couple of white pills in his hand. "Take this."

Murdock didn't ask what it was. He took the pills, dropped them into his mouth, and didn't even wait for the water before he swallowed them. Years of swallowing pills at the VA had made him very good at it.

"Come on, we need to get him to the hotel."

Murdock shut his eyes again. Where was he?

"If somebody catches us in here, we're going to have a problem."

South Africa.

"He need blood, Hannibal. I give 'im blood."

"Not here you won't."

Deadline.

"Murdock? Are you with us?"

They had to make the deadline. "Hannibal…"

"Easy Murdock. We're going to move you."

Murdock's eyelids fluttered as they tried to open, unsuccessfully. "You gotta go… the plane will leave… I can't…"

"Let me worry about that. BA get on his other side."

Murdock grit his teeth as the pain of trying to stand briefly drew him back to full consciousness. "Jus' let us carry you, man. You ain't gotta walk."

He couldn't stand anyways.

"Face?"

"We're good, Colonel."

"Let's get out of here."

Exhaustion. Dizziness.

Murdock slipped away again.

*X*X*X*

"Oww…"

Face was so lost in his thoughts, he wasn't even sure if his eyes had been open or closed when Murdock finally stirred. Either way, he had his attention the instant he made a sound. Face discarded the book on his lap, but not the gun resting beside it. "Murdock? How you doing?"

Murdock tried to move, and his answering groan turned to a whimper of pain and he dropped back into his original position. With a wince, he opened his eyes again and turned his eyes towards Face. "Ouch."

Face almost smiled. "Seems like a bit of an understatement."

"I would kill for some morphine." Murdock's eyes fluttered closed. "You get that for me, Facey?"

"Not without leaving you here alone."

The faintest smile crossed Murdock's lips. "Aw, I ain't goin' nowhere."

Face didn't answer. Murdock leaving wasn't his concern. They'd just stolen a vial of some highly unstable chemical agent - which was supposedly being developed for use as a pesticide and Stockwell wanted for God-knows-what - from a government lab. That was cause for concern. By now, the lab would know exactly what was missing. And the security guards had gotten a pretty good look at them in between the rounds they'd been firing - one of which had hit Murdock. Face's grip tightened just slightly around his pistol.

Murdock turned slowly onto his side, careful to move his leg as little as necessary. "How 'bout water?"

"That I can do," Face said, standing up. He put the gun into the back of his jeans before walking to their supplies and grabbing a bottle of water.

Murdock needed help to sit up. He couldn't quite hold back a gasp of pain. "Man, I never had a bullet hurt like this," he muttered.

"Hannibal said it was close to the nerve. Even when you were unconscious, you were flinching."

Murdock leaned back on the headboard, breathing heavily. "It still hurts like hell."

"I'm not surprised."

Murdock took the canteen and drank deeply, then finally looked back up at Face. "How long was I out?" He was sounding more lucid by the minute.

"Few hours." Face watched him drain a few more gulps of the water. "Hannibal and the others should be back soon."

"They went to rendezvous with Stockwell?"

"Uh huh."

"Terrific."

There was cynicism - bordering anger - in Murdock's voice. Face understood it perfectly. He didn't even care anymore, one way or another, what these missions entailed. It was like taking orders from a robot. A sadistic one. But one that wasn't moved by how any of them felt about those orders. They took them, they carried them out, and they moved on to the next. It was emotionless. Just the facts. The way things were.

"Hannibal will be glad to see you awake. Before he left he was saying that if you didn't wake up by the time he got back, we were going to hook you up to BA."

Murdock smiled involuntarily. "Aw, he'll love that."

"You lost a lot of blood, Murdock."

Murdock finished the rest of the water and Face reached for the bottle. "You want more?"

"No. S'okay." He sighed deeply as he leaned his head back on the headboard, eyes shut. "So how are we gon' get out of here?"

"You mean back home?"

"Uh huh."

"I'm not worried about it. Once you're well enough, we can always get a plane." Lord knew, they could never really count on Stockwell's cooperation.

Murdock took in a deep breath, and let it out slow. "It might be a few days before I can fly us out of here. Stockwell comes up with some brilliant idea to make that happen sooner, do me a favor and tell him where he can stick it."

Face felt a wry smile creep across his features. Telling Stockwell where to stick it would be his pleasure. "Don't worry about Stockwell, Murdock. You're not going anywhere until you're ready."

"Mmm hmm. Not worried."

Face pulled the chair closer to the bed so that he could sit down again. "How are you feeling?"

"My heads pounding and my leg feels like a throbbing mass of hamburger." He let out a little sigh. "Shoulda stayed in bed." A small smile curled up the corner of his lips. "With Bev."

Face chuckled. "Well, we did prevent World War III, remember."

"Aw, we ain't helpin' anyone but that puffed up little twit." The fact that Murdock's Texas drawl was in full force just underscored the fact he was in pain. He sounded weaker than Face would have liked. But there wasn't much he could over him. No real painkillers, no hospital. All they could do was wait and try to figure a way to get out of here.

"We used to help _people_, Facey. People who didn't have any hope. Now we're just making Stockwell more powerful."

Face didn't answer. There wasn't really anything for him to say to that. He let Murdock drift and come back, muttering under his breath.

"I didn't wanna leave her."

"Who?" Face asked. "Bev?"

Brown, unfocused eyes turned to him. "How do you do it Face? How do you leave Jess, just 'cause Stockwell says? How does it not drive you crazy to have no say in what you do, or when?"

Face gave a sad smile before answering solemnly, "I ask myself that every time. Especially since chances are pretty good that sooner or later, one of these suicide missions might actually end in just that. And we never really know when that's going to be."

Murdock shut his eyes. "I hate 'im, Face. I really, really do."

"I know."

"Hate what he did to you guys and how he don't care. They only thing I got is that I can get away from him for a little bit, and she's there. But even then, I keep just waiting to find out what the hell he wants with her. There's something. We still don't know why he brought her here."

His words were slow and slurred. He sounded drunk. Blood loss and pain had him rambling.

"She's bored. She don't have anyone or anything, not like Jess. And I'm too busy helpin' Stockwell run his little private wars to do anything for her."

Face sighed. "With the kind of background she's got, it's no wonder she's bored. You oughtta see if you can get her interested in something. Preoccupy her time."

Murdock's eyes had closed, but a smile crept over his face. "I don't think she wants to fly. She reminds me of you Face, life of larceny, gold heart. Maybe you can give her some ideas?" There was a long pause has he drew a deep breath. "You understand what she's lookin' for. I…"

His eyes fluttered, closed, and opened again a few moments later, full of worry and exhaustion. "Gotta call her. Tell her I'm gonna be late. Promised…"

"Just take it easy, Murdock. I'll call her. You just need to relax."

Murdock smiled faintly as he slurred a weak, "Mmmkay."

Without another word, his head lulled to the side. He was asleep again.

*X*X*X*

"Very good, Colonel." The smile from Stockwell was his equivalent of a pat on the head. He took the small vial of fluid carefully, and pointed off to the side for Hannibal to set the knapsack full of papers out of the way. "If you'll just set those files right over there."

Hannibal didn't bother with a glare; it simply wasn't worth the effort. Lugging heavy papers around was something he'd never much liked or approved of. Not even in Vietnam, when those papers taken from enemy camps could potentially save lives and oust the enemy's plans.

"We'll be leaving shortly," Stockwell informed. "Where is the rest of your team?"

"We will _not _be leaving shortly," Hannibal corrected. "Because the rest of my team is not here."

"Oh?"

Hannibal looked him straight in the eye, ignoring the blank expression. "Murdock was shot during the escape. He's injured and I'm not moving him until he can be transported comfortably."

Stockwell paused, as if he was not certain what to do with this new turn of events. "Well then that does present you with a bit of a dilemma, since we will be leaving within the next ten minutes."

There wasn't even a trace on concern in his voice. He may as well of been giving a weather update.

"_You_ will be leaving in the next ten minutes," Hannibal answered. "And you can take your biochemical agents with you. My team and I will be staying here for a few days at least. Some suicide missions require a recovery period."

"Only when you are unable to carry out your missions safely."

Stockwell opened a small padded steel case and with great care, placed the vial inside. There was a soft click as he closed the box and spun the combination lock on it. Hannibal waited patiently for him to continue.

"I don't have to tell you that this oversight complicates upcoming assignments."

"And I don't have to tell _you_ that I'm not leaving this country without every member of my team in tow. One of whom is injured, and staying right where he is until he's feeling better."

"And just how long will critical plans with global implications have to be delayed for your Captain?"

Hannibal smiled as he stepped back, heading for the exit. It seemed to be a great inconvenience that Murdock had the bad taste to get himself shot will doing Stockwell's dirty work. "I've got your number. I'll be sure to let you know."

There was a sigh from Stockwell. "There is no need to be difficult, Colonel. I am perfectly willing to have the plane return for you and your men in 72 hours."

"Well, I'll let you know before then if it looks like we'll be needing that ride. If not, we'll arrange our own way home."

"Of course."

There was something in that smug smile that made it clear, despite the indifferent attitude, he was very angry at the fact that Hannibal was walking away.

Good.


	7. Chapter Five

**CHAPTER FIVE**

_Feb. 3, 1988, 21__:16:57 Abel 3 surveillance. Peck and Murdock arrive at Murdock's apartment._

"You sure you're alright?" Face asked, hanging back as Murdock pushed open the door to his apartment and limped inside, leaning heavily on the cane. "Stockwell's clamoring for a debriefing, you know. He'll probably be here first thing in the morning to drag you back to the compound. You really might as well stay there."

"Let 'im twist." Murdock flipped on the light switch. "Stockwell don't want me there and I just wanna get home."

Face chuckled quietly. "You are home, Murdock. This one's yours."

"Ah, right. I thought it looked familiar."

Murdock was walking - limping, at least - with only the aid of Tylenol. He'd made it without the blood transfusion and had been more or less coherent since shortly after Hannibal had returned from the rendezvous with Stockwell. He'd slept pretty much nonstop for the past several days, but Face knew there was no real danger involved in leaving him alone. And he wouldn't be alone here. At least, he shouldn't be.

"Where's Bev?"

Murdock limped slowly to the couch, looking gangly and uncoordinated as he tried to sit down without moving his leg. "She's not here. She said something about going out of town."

"Oh yeah?"

Face casually checked the apartment. He wasn't really expecting to find anything. Stockwell had never bugged Murdock's apartment before. But that could change, and it was better to be safe than sorry. Murdock appreciated the concern.

"Where'd she go?" Face asked. He wasn't prying, just making conversation while he stepped up onto the coffee table to check the light fixture.

"Don't know. Knowing her, probably someplace tropical. A cruise or something." He sighed deeply. "Anything that keeps her far away from Stockwell is good in my book."

Face stepped off the coffee table. "What are you going to tell her about your leg?"

Murdock grimaced. "Aww man, I hate this part. I'm a lousy liar."

Face chuckled. "Not always. But I can see how lying to her wouldn't get you very far. Especially since she'll probably recognize a bullet wound. Maybe even be able to identify the caliber."

Murdock was staring at the hamster cage with a frown. "Think she'll believe that Roger attacked me?"

"Well, what's your standard answer to where you go when Stockwell sends you out?"

Murdock stopped in the middle of his attempt to snag the hamster food bag with his cane. There was a grin on his face. "I told her I do contract work and I would have to leave unexpectedly and I wouldn't be able to tell her where I was going, what I was doing or when I would be back." His smile grew wider. "And she still stuck around."

There was a dreamy, amazed, downright goofy look on Murdock's face. It was hard to mistake it for anything other than puppy love. Whatever else Murdock may or may not feel for her, he had that particular look down pat. Face chuckled as he shook his head.

"Well, then that makes it easy. You simply can't explain the bullet wound in your leg."

"You know, I bet she _could_ guess the caliber."

Face laughed again as he glanced around the living room. "You need anything else before I get outta here?"

"You think you can refill Roger's water bottle? He can get ornery when his thirsty."

Face eyed the cage warily. "Is he gonna bite me if I reach in there?"

"Don't worry, he's a vegetarian." He finally managed to hook the hamster food and slide it to where he could reach it. "The worst he would do is poop in your hand."

"Nice," Face said with distaste.

Face took the water bottle to the kitchen and filled it, then returned it to the cage. By the time he was finished fixing it to the holder again, Murdock's eyes were closed. If he wasn't asleep, he was close to it. With a faint smile, Face turned and headed out of the apartment, locking the door behind him.

_Feb. 3, 1988, 21__:32:57 Abel 3 surveillance. Peck leaves Murdock's apartment. _

_Feb. 3, 1988, 21__:47:22 Abel 6 surveillance. Peck arrives at compound._

***X*X*X***

"Beverly Richards just got on a plane back to Virginia," Empress 3 reported. "Do you want me to follow her?"

"No, let her go," Stockwell said quietly. "If she's back, it's the only place she's going. Return to your assignment in Salt Lake City and let me know if you experience any difficulties in picking up where you left off."  
"Yes, Sir."

As Stockwell hung up the phone and glanced up at the woman who was watching him expectantly. "Beverly Richards, I presume?"

"Yes."

Carla smiled, pleased. "I told you she would be back."

Stockwell nodded. "Yes. I am very pleased that you were right."

"Do you intend to intercept her at the airport?"

"No. Let her go home. When I need her, I know where to find her."

Carla sat down in the chair against the wall, legs crossed elegantly. "I hope you're sure about this, General." Her voice was as calm and controlled as it always was. "If you're not, you may lose him on the basis of the threat."

There was a slight twitch at the corner of his mouth as his turned his chair to face her. "Colonel Smith prides himself on loyalty. His 'never leave a man behind' mantra will surely apply here."

"You seem very certain of that."

"You're not?"

"I'm particularly concerned that she seems to show no loyalty to him."

"To him? No. She doesn't even know him. But as you so aptly pointed out, her loyalty to Captain Murdock is reflected in the simple fact that she's returned of her own free will."

"That doesn't necessarily make her one of his own."

Leaning back in his chair, Stockwell folded his hands under his chin. "Loyalty need not be reciprocated for Smith to feel it. He only needs a reason."

Of that, there was no doubt in his mind. At least, none that he was actually willing to entertain. Smith had proven himself to be very smart and capable. But he was a soldier, first and foremost. And soldiers were trained to take orders, once it was made clear who was in charge. They just needed to re-establish the chain of command.

"The fact that she is a woman will just further encourage him to protect her at all cost. He is delightfully old fashioned in his views sometimes."

"Maybe." She leaned on the desk, arms crossed loosely. "But woman or man, if he doesn't consider her _his_, that makes a big difference."

"I'm fairly certain he will."

"And if he doesn't?"

Stockwell frowned as he considered that. The mere fact that she's romantically involved with one of his men ought to be enough to ensure it. But if not... he would deal with that when the time came.

"The Captain has already proved his willingness to ride off to her rescue, endangering his team in the process. I'm fairly certain Smith will respond no differently."

She paused. "If you're right, and Smith is planning on taking those diamonds and disappearing to some quaint little village in Western Europe, it might take more than a hint of loyalty for him to abandon that plan."

"That's a risk I am comfortable taking. Besides, Murdock is little more than an insurance policy. His involvement with her is fortunate, but it's not crucial. It's just a bit more encouragement for Smith."

"Either that, or it could potentially complicate things."

"How so?"

"You do realize that every step we've taken in an attempt to use her has been met with some unanticipated surprise. If some of those surprises happened to turn out in our favor, they were still unplanned. Which makes it luck of the draw."

"You should know by now that I don't believe in luck. Unanticipated surprises happen no matter how well things are planned. That is the unpredictable nature of humanity." He leaned forward and folded his hands on his mahogany desk. "What separates the good from the truly great is how well they can use those 'surprises' to their advantage. And so far, every unexpected turn with Ms. Richards has ended up decidedly in my favor."

"As you think this one will." She paused for a moment, and sighed as she gathered her things. "Well, you call it unexpected turns and I call it gambling. In either case, I hope you're right. But then," she paused to smile over her shoulder at him as she headed for the door, "I'm of the opinion that you should've put this card on the table long ago, just to see how he responds. It's not like you wouldn't be able to continue to use her for situations like this, and you wouldn't have so much on the line when you don't know for certain how Smith is going to react."

"It never pays to show your hand to soon, Carla. A combination of positive and negative rewards for behavior is much more effective." He let a smug smile form. "When you add a few surprise consequences for, shall we say, extreme behavior, then you are guaranteed compliance."

She smiled back, knowingly, and nodded to him. "Good night, Hunt."

His smile lingered as he watched her turn away and head out the door, but fell once she was out of view. "Good night, indeed."

*X*X*X*

_Feb. 4, 1988, 02__:29:03 Abel 12 surveillance. Beverly Richards arrives at Murdock's apartment and enters with her own key._

Warm kisses. He could feel them on his neck, along his jaw. Hot breath in his ear, soft hands sliding up under his shirt. Was he dreaming? He knew he was asleep.

"Wake up, Murdock…"

The voice, low and seductive in his ear, was followed by those same warm hands sliding down to his belt. Wow, it was already unclasped. When had that happened? Down further, her hands wrapped around his cock. Awkward grip, but she was stroking him as her teeth raked on his ear.

"You need to wake up and fuck me."

If this was a dream, opening his eyes would ruin the ending. Eyes still closed, he took a deep breath and was rewarded with the warm scent of honeysuckle mixed with her. Definitely not a dream. Dreams didn't smell that good - not even the best ones.

She closed her mouth over his, kissing him so hard - so deeply - she pushed his head back against the couch. Her hands were shoving his boxers out of the way, freeing his cock. There was no need to think; his body responded to her the way it always did. Before she even had the need to break for air, she was pressing down, already dripping wet and hot as she impaled herself on his length.

He groaned at the primal, raw desire that pounded in his veins. With a hand in her hair, he held her still as he kissed her back, hard, his tongue fighting hers for dominance. Her hands moved to his shoulders, pushing his jacket back, groping and scratching through his shirt. There was nothing gentle, nothing serene about it. It was nothing short of a demand. And it mimicked the need he felt for her.

Thrusting into her sent a shock of pain through his leg. He ignored it. He planted his good foot against the arm of the sofa and used it for leverage as his other hand went to her hip. Gripping her hard, he pulled her down hard. She gasped - in pain or pleasure, he couldn't tell. But she wasn't stopping. She didn't even slow.

That dark, dangerous feeling was back. Tugging her hair back, he finally broke the kiss. "God damn," was all he managed to growl before he attacked her neck with his tongue and teeth. He wanted to roll her onto her back and drive himself into her, feel her writhe underneath him. He wanted to watch her eyes as she lost herself to him. But his leg prevented that, and somehow the frustration only added to the madding level of need and desire.

It was almost no effort at all before she threw her head back and screamed. He felt the wave cresting as he watched her let go. She was so beautiful. Still riding out the pleasure, she pushed his jacket off, pulled his shirt up, and pressed her body full against his - skin on skin.

"Murdock, I need you."

She wasn't telling him anything he didn't already know. But to hear her say it, to feel her naked skin, warm and slick on his, was more than he could take. He forgot the pain, his arms around her pulling her tight against him as his eyes rolled back. He ground into her, letting go of reason and reality, and came inside of her with a sound somewhere between a growl and shout.

She laughed darkly as he panted at the effort and intensity of the orgasm. She was still rocking slowly, nipping along his jaw, hands wandering over him. Shoulders, arms, chest... She touched him everywhere she could reach, then closed her mouth over his again, kissing him deeply. He was floating.

She moved off of his lap as she pulled away, not speaking, and leaned back on the arm of the sofa, spreading her legs wide with one over the back of the sofa and the other on the floor. Eyes closed and still moaning, her hand slid down her own body. His eyes locked on the sight of her, his mouth suddenly dry. He'd just had her and he wanted her again. But there was no way for him to move. The throbbing pain in his leg was a shocking reminder of his limitation.

That same steady rhythm she'd been rocking on him, she used against her hand, writhing and unashamed. She wasn't putting on a show. For a moment it was as if his presence there was almost inconsequential. He watched her, breathing slow and deep. Without thinking, one hand drifted down to his cock, stroking the soft skin that was still wet with her fluids. His other hand caressed the leg she'd thrown over the back of the sofa.

"Jesus, Bev, you're beautiful."

He had never meant those words more than he did at that moment. Head tossed back, body open, sensual and wild. She looked like a Valkyrie, a goddess. She groaned, breathing staggered, back arching up. Her whole body shook as she came again, hard, and finally let her hand fall to the inside of her thigh as she gasped for breath. Her eyes were closed tightly as he watched her in silence, enjoying the view more than he'd imagined he could enjoy anything. She was still moaning in pleasure as she put the foot on the floor into his lap.

"Good vacation, then?"

She laughed heartily, then moaned as she stretched, still not looking at him. "Don't get comfortable. I'm not done with you yet."

He gave her a wicked grin as he pressed her foot against his cock, letting her feel that he was already hardening again. "Good. I'm glad."


	8. Chapter Six

**CHAPTER SIX**

_Feb. 4, 1988, 08__:42:41 Abel 3 surveillance. Beverly Richards leaves Murdock's apartment._

The first thing Murdock was aware of was the fact that he was alone in the bed. He vaguely remembered the events of that morning, and the night before. Sleep and sex, off and on throughout the night. He smiled, only half awake. He would never get tired of her.

She'd kissed him good morning - on his lips and other places - around eight. She was gone now. What time was it? He opened his blurry eyes and blinked a few times until the clock on the bedside table came into focus. Almost noon. Nice. His leg was sore. It took him a little longer than usual to get out of bed and moving. Coffee first.

The coffee pot was already full and warm. There was a note beside it with her lip prints on it. She was running errands and planning a nice dinner so he'd better be there. He smiled. Again. He wouldn't miss it for the world.

He showered and changed the dressing on his leg wound, then put in a call to Face.

_Feb. 4, 1988, 09__:33:18 Living room phone. Incoming call from 555-2332, Murdock. Peck answers._

"We haven't heard anything from Stockwell yet," Face said. Murdock pulled the phone onto the sofa as he sat down and put his leg up on the sofa. "I'm kind of surprised. Usually he's here at eight a.m. sharp."

"Yeah and he's usually got his goons knocking on my door at seven thirty before he heads your way."

"I guess he's not all that interested in the debriefing this time."

Murdock chuckled. "Maybe he was eaten by bears. That would be nice."

He couldn't help the smile at the thought, and the fact that at least one of his lackeys were probably listening to this conversation. It was no secret that the phones at the compound were tapped. BA cleaned them at least every other day, but half the time they were bugged at the telephone pole out at the side of the road. And in the middle of winter, it was simply a pain in the ass to clean that.

But, at least for now, Murdock was in too damn good of a mood to let the thought of being Stockwell's puppet bother him. "Hey, Face, you wanna come get me? I don't think me driving is a great idea, since I can't work the brakes. Not that you really _need _brakes but, you know."

"Now, if you wanted to be over here, why didn't you just come here last night?" Face's irritation was exaggerated.

"But Face!" He played along, giving his best shocked, polite voice. "If I had stayed _there_ I would have missed a very special wake up call." There was no hiding the smug enjoyment in that statement. "Several of them, in fact."

"Ah, she came home." Face chuckled. "Which also explains why you're so bright and chipper this morning. I take it the leg is feeling better?"

"You're right on both counts, Faceman." He tucked the phone onto his shoulder and grabbed his coffee cup off of the end table. When did he get an end table? "I think I might've pulled a couple stitches. And I couldn't be happier about it."

"Right."

He took a sip of coffee. Man, that was good. Bev made an excellent cup of coffee. "She is out runnin' errands 'til dinner, so how about you come get me?"

"Great!" Face answered with mock enthusiasm. "And you can tell Hannibal how you ripped the stitches out of your leg."

"Oh, I'd be more than happy to. I'll even draw him pictures."

"I'm sure he'll appreciate it." Murdock could almost hear the way he was shaking his head as he sighed audibly. "Alright, give me twenty minutes."

Murdock took another sip of coffee before setting his mug down. He did a double take. When did he get that coffee mug? He smiled. Had to be Bev's doing.

"I'll see you in a bit, Murdock."

He was still smiling as he hung up the phone. Grabbing a hand full of hamster food, Murdock opened Roger's cage and smiled as the sleepy rodent sniffed at his hand. Carefully picking him up, Murdock ran his hand over the soft fur a couple times before looking Rodger in the eye. "What do you know, Rodger? Looks like things are looking up for you and me."

Setting the confused hamster back in his cage, Murdock gave him a gentle scratch behind the ears, before closing the top and maneuvering his way off the couch. It was time to get ready for Face and leave a note for Bev.

*X*X*X*

_Feb. 4, 1988, 14__:00:00 Hourly status report. Smith is in the pool house with Abel 8. Baracus, Murdock, Santana in living room watching basketball game. Peck in bedroom with book, audio enabled. _

_Feb. 4, 1988, 14__:00:00 Hourly surveillance report. Video and audio disabled in pool house. Video and audio recording in living room. Video disabled in Peck's room, audio recording._

Basketball was one of those things best watched with pizza and beer. Just like football went hand in hand with chips and salsa. At least in Frankie's world. Murdock's impending date tonight - he'd been sure to tell them all he had one - made the pizza more suited for lunch than dinner, and it was too early to _really_ start drinking. But beer wasn't all that good for getting drunk anyway.

Unfortunately, it had been almost an hour and a half since Face got back with Murdock, and they still had no pizza.

"Man, when is that pizza gonna get here? I'm _starving_!"

Murdock was grinning happily, leaning into the corner of the sofa with his injured leg propped up on the coffee table. "Man, you would figure someone like Stockwell could get a pizza here in thirty minutes or less."

"Quiet Murdock!" BA snapped. "I'm trying to listen to the game!"

Frankie grinned, first at Murdock and then at BA. The man really did take his sports way too seriously. And then on the opposite end of the spectrum was Face, who probably couldn't have been paid to sit and watch a sports game on TV all the way through. He'd made it through about five minutes before giving up and wandering off to his room with a book. He hadn't been seen since.

Frankie stood and walked around the sofa toward the kitchen as he finally finished his first beer and held up the empty bottle to wave it at Murdock. "You need another one?"

"Sure, I don't have to drive. Or fly." He smirked. "Just gotta make home in time for dinner."

BA glared briefly at the two of them, then glanced back at the TV screen and growled. "Aw, come on Ref! That was _walkin'_! Call it!"

Hopefully, BA knew the TV was not going to talk back.

Frankie happened to be near the phone when it rang. He picked it up after only the first ring. "Hello?"

"Frankie?"

The guess was unsure. But that was okay because he couldn't immediately figure out who the woman's voice belonged to, either. "That's me. Who's this?"

"It's Beverly."

"Ah, you wanna talk to Murdock, right?" He didn't give her a chance to respond. "Well, you're in luck 'cause he's right here. Hang on just a sec."

He pulled the phone away from his ear and held it up, waving it a little at Murdock with a broad grin. "It's for you."

He held back any jokes about the tabs she was apparently keeping on him when she not only knew to call him here, but actually did it. Beer in one hand, Murdock reached for the phone with the other, concern flickering across his face. Frankie noticed that BA had gone quiet, his silent attention focused on Murdock. It was hard to believe that BA could scowl deeper, but somehow he managed.

"Bev?"

"Man, take it in the other room," BA ordered.

Murdock smiled back at him as he spoke to Bev. "Gimme a second, darlin'."

It was the last thing he said as he took the phone and limped towards the foyer, leaving BA to watch his game without interruption.

***X*X*X***

_Feb. 4, 1988, 16__:22:18 Incoming call to Murdock's apartment from 555-7216, Beverly Richards. Murdock answers._

Just hearing her voice brought a smile to Murdock's face. "I got your note this morning."

"Good."

"Everything alright?"

She paused briefly. "I need you to do me a favor."

Something about the tone of her voice. He wasn't sure exactly what it was. Something just not right. He frowned, suddenly concerned as he realized belatedly that she shouldn't have been calling him here. Besides that, she wasn't the type to just call for fun. Something was wrong.

"What do you need, Bev?"

"I need you to call a lawyer."

Very suddenly, there was a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. Stockwell. Had he made his move? Too soon to tell. Murdock took in a deep, calming breath. "What happened?"

She was calm, and her tone was flat. "I've been arrested."

"For what?"

"Andre's murder."

Murdock's shoulders tensed. No way. They'd tied up all the loose ends on that. Evidence pointed straight to Travis; they'd made sure of it.

"They say there's new evidence."

There was no evidence. But they had to have something in order to arrest her. And it had to be something big - a smoking gun. Stockwell's other shoe. He'd been waiting for it. He recognized it immediately. But nothing could've really prepared him.

"What precinct are you at and what new evidence?"

"The 5th precinct and they said they have a video tape."

A video tape? How the hell would Stockwell have gotten that? He wanted to ask questions, but he didn't dare. Not over the phone.

"I think they're full of shit," Beverly continued. "But whatever it is they think they've got, they're being very smug about it."

Out of the corner of his eye, Murdock saw the front door open, and Stockwell stepped inside as if on cue. Murdock's eyes locked on him, survival senses kicking in. He knew as sure as he was breathing that Stockwell was up to his neck in this. He'd been waiting for it.

His hand clenched the phone so tight his knuckles turned white. "Say nothing," Murdock said flatly, watching as Stockwell moved into the room.

"I won't. I know how this works."

Eyes targeted on Stockwell, Murdock tried to force his voice to sound normal, for her sake. "Just sit tight. I'll send someone. Do you need anything else?"

"I'm going to need a nice relaxing bath when I get out of here. But for now, no."

"We'll get you out of this." That was a promise he would die to keep.

"Thanks, Murdock. I owe you dinner, too. When this is over."

She hung up without another word. Very slowly and carefully, Murdock hung up the phone. Stockwell was looking right at him. As if he somehow knew. There was no smile, no taunting. But he knew. He knew every goddamn thing about the phone call Murdock had just received.

"What in the hell do you want with her?"

Stockwell stared blankly at him, appearing for all the world completely innocent. "With who?"

There was no doubt in Murdock's mind that he knew exactly who. And even more than what he'd done, it was the calm indifference that made Murdock's blood pressure shoot through the roof. Before he even registered the anger, he was moving, faster than a man with a bad leg should be able to move. The men on either side of Stockwell stepped forward to intercept him.

"You son of a bitch!" He was yelling, and he didn't care, nothing mattered but wiping that emotionless look off Stockwell's face. "Why her? What the hell did she ever do to you?"

"Woah, Murdock, your leg!"

He was so angry, he couldn't see. He wasn't even aware of his surroundings until he suddenly realized that BA and Frankie were on either side of him. "Take it easy, Murdock."

"You hurt, man. You ripped your stitches."

He felt no pain. All he could think about was putting his fist right through Stockwell's face. But the struggling was futile against BA's grip. "What do you want with her, damn it?" he screamed.

He wouldn't get an answer and he knew it. Stockwell was still staring at him, but the look was a little less blank now, and more surprised. "I'm afraid I'm not sure just what you're referring to."

Murdock's anger flared. Why was he denying it? Pressing forward with renewed anger, Murdock knew he'd kill the bastard where he stood if he had the chance. He saved his energy for that, offering no more verbal threats.

It was Face's voice that cut through the red blur in his mind, and Face's arm across his chest as he took Frankie's place. "Murdock!"

The sharp command got his attention. Face never used that tone with him anymore. For just a second, he was back in the jungle, knowing he had to follow that voice and listen to survive. Closing his eyes tight for a second, he forced himself to stop struggling.

"Easy, will you?" Face said in a much more soothing tone. "Take it easy. Okay?"

When Murdock opened his eyes again, he was still. The anger was gone and he was somehow left behind, empty. He raised his eyes to Face, and his voice was just barley a whisper when spoke.

"He had Bev arrested for murder."

Finally, Stockwell cleared his throat and wiped the startled look off his face, replacing it with that same blank look that was both mildly amused and indifferent at the same time. "Perhaps I should come back at a better time."

Face's jaw was tight as he turned to glare at Stockwell. "Perhaps you should."

Murdock didn't take his eyes off Face. He didn't trust himself right now. But he trusted Face, completely. He concentrated on getting his breathing under control and let Face handle Stockwell for the moment. The team was here. The pain in his leg was making itself known, suddenly screaming at him. Leaning back, he let BA take some of his weight.

God damn it. Why her?

Murdock watched as Stockwell turned and walked right back out the front door. He'd just come in to see the reaction. Damn it, he was playing a game. And Murdock didn't have a clue what that game was. One thing was for damn sure: He was responsible for this.


	9. Chapter Seven

**CHAPTER SEVEN**

_Feb. 4, 1988, 14__:28:12 Peck, Santana, Baracus, and Murdock go to pool house where Smith and Abel 8 are presently._

Hannibal knew by the knock who was at the door. Suzanne immediately moved to put some distance between them, but Hannibal didn't bother. He had nothing to hide from Face.

"It's open!"

Face stepped inside, and left the door open behind him. He wasn't alone. BA, Frankie, and Murdock were all behind him. None of them were smiling.

"Hope we're not interrupting," Face said apologetically.

Suzanne gave a polite smile in return. "No, not at all."

"What's going on, guys?"

Hannibal could tell by the expressions that this was not a friendly, casual visit. He turned fully to face them, leaning his hip on the kitchen island. Murdock limped to the kitchen table, leaning heavily on the cane, and plopped down wordlessly. One look at his ashen face and flat expression - and the way BA was hovering just behind him - made Hannibal's eyes focus on the pilot for a second. Whatever was going on, it had nothing to do with Murdock's leg, but everything to do with the man himself.

"Stockwell came to visit. He's still around here somewhere," Face said dryly. "He may be looking for you because he's not interested in talking to any of us."

Hannibal nodded and turned to Suzanne. He slid an arm behind her back in a comfortable, casual, sideways embrace. "Suppose you can arrange us some privacy for us for a few minutes?"

He was smiling, but it wasn't really a question. Or even a suggestion. It was an order. Until he knew what this was about, he didn't want her involved.

Suzanne nodded, and Hannibal gave her a quick kiss before she pulled away and headed for the door. Face smiled politely at her as she passed.

_Feb. 4, 1988, 14__:32:22 Abel 8 leaves pool house._

Hannibal waited until he heard the soft click of the door locking behind her before he opened up the conversation. "What happened?"

The worry in his tone was hidden, but it wasn't hidden particularly well. "Bev was arrested for murder," Murdock said flatly. "They say they have a video tape."

Hannibal raised a brow. "Whose murder?"

"Andre's. The murder I told you Stockwell was holding over her when he brought her back to the States."

Hannibal grabbed his lukewarm coffee off the counter and gestured in the general direction of the living room. BA put his arm on Murdock shoulder. It was meant to look like was helping him to the sofa, but Hannibal knew it was BA's own way of offering reassurance and comfort. Murdock slowly hobbled his way around to the couch, sitting down heavily with BA's help.

Hannibal followed calmly, almost casually. "Well, we've known for a while that Stockwell's somehow involved with her. Does her getting arrested tell us anything _more _about that?"

Murdock leaned his head back for a second and closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. "He knew. He knew she was in jail, he knew she was the one on the phone when she called to tell me. I would bet my life on it."

"Alright." Hannibal nodded slowly. "So he knew she was in jail and he knew she would call here. If I had to guess, I'd say he also knows what you guys were doing in San Antonio last year. But none of that necessarily means this is his doing."

"We had Travis sewn up, then all of the sudden a video appears out of thin air? Three years after the murder? After the investigation is all but closed? It reeks of his slime trail."

"Why?" Face asked. It was the first real contribution Face was making to the conversation and clearly he'd given it some thought. "I mean, you said it yourself - why her? I mean, if he's behind any of this there's a reason for it. He may be a greedy, pompous megalomaniac, but he's _not_ random. So why?"

"Yeah. If he brought her back here to have her stand trial on that murder, why wait?" Frankie asked.

"And if he didn't," Face shrugged, "he has nothing to do with this."

"Unless he's blackmailing her," Hannibal suggested thoughtfully. "She stepped out of line?"

Face raised a brow and glanced at Murdock. "Maybe her little vacation was against the rules?"

"I don't know. I don't even know where she went."

Hannibal considered the problem carefully. "Well, we can try and get a straight answer out of Stockwell. But we'll probably have better luck getting it out of this sofa. So I suggest that our first order of business is to find out about this tape - if it's real, what's on it, and where they got it."

Face glanced up and raised a brow. "And you have a suggestion for how to do that?"

Hannibal smiled. "Of course I do."

*X*X*X*

_Feb. 4, 1988, 15__:11:15 Smith and Peck leave compound._

_Feb. 4, 1988, 15__:23:44 Smith and Peck arrive at headquarters._

Hannibal didn't wait for an invitation. As soon as they frisked him and Face, they followed the man who went to announce their presence. They didn't wait for that announcement. There was only minimal effort to force them to stay and wait to be called, and the guards backed down with only a glare.

Hannibal was still pulling his gloves onto his hands as he stepped through the door and locked eyes on his target. "Hiya Stockwell. You've got a minute, don't you?"  
Face followed a step behind and split off a little to the side, watching and waiting. His presence at this meeting, while not strictly necessary, was welcome as far as Hannibal was concerned. Face knew more about this woman than he did, and possibly more than Stockwell, at least on an experiential level. That gave him an advantage Hannibal didn't have.

Seated behind his desk, Stockwell looked up and offered a polite smile. "Of course, Colonel Smith."

Hannibal didn't bother pointing out that it hadn't really been a question.

Stockwell gestured to the chairs on the other side of his desk. "Please, have a seat."

Hannibal didn't sit. Neither did Face. Leaning back in his own overstuffed chair, Stockwell held up a cut, leaded highball glass. No doubt it was filled with the twelve-year-old scotch he seemed to enjoy when he was feeling particularly proud of himself.

"I have been expecting you," he started. "I assume you're here because of Captain Murdock's little outburst this morning?"

It was a phrased as a question, but there was certain insult in it. Hannibal was struck but just how much he managed to make Murdock sound like a misbehaved house pet.

"Actually, I'm here to talk about Beverly Richards."

Swirling the amber scotch in the heavy glass for a second, Stockwell carefully set the glass on the leather blotter on his desk before he looked up again. "What about her?"

Hannibal smiled, but it was without any trace of humor. "You tell me."

Hands folded in front of him, there was no break in the calm, sure and brutally polite tone. "I'm not sure what you wish to know Colonel, and I'm not sure I see the connection between Ms. Richards and your pilot's emotional state."

"Cut the crap, Stockwell," Face interjected. "We can play connect the dots with the surveillance reports from those guard dogs you have sitting outside his apartment."

"I was aware that he was seeing her," Stockwell admitted cautiously. "I was not aware that he was so emotionally invested. Or… unstable."

Hannibal's eyes were cold. "If you're trying to make Murdock's emotional or mental state an issue here, you're going to have to do better than that."

"He wasn't exactly overreacting," Face added. "You had his girlfriend arrested for murder. In fact, I'd be willing to bet you were _banking _on his reaction."

Stockwell opened his mouth to answer, but Hannibal didn't give him a chance. "Why her?" he demanded, pointedly. "What's that woman's worth to you?"

Stockwell was quiet for a moment, considering the question, debating his answer quietly. "Ms. Richards was brought here under protective custody for a," he paused for a second, "project. But I most certainly did not fabricate her involvement with murder."

"What kind of project?" Face demanded, ignoring the denial.

"One that was most certainly not intended to involve Captain Murdock."

"Then why did you put her right next door to him?"

"Because it was convenient. As you have so aptly pointed out, I already have surveillance there. It makes no difference if they're watching one apartment or two."

"Is she aware of this project?" Hannibal asked coldly.

Stockwell took his time, slowly taking another sip of his drink before he settled back into his leather chair. "Ms. Richards _did _commit the murder for which she's been arrested. I hardly fabricated it."

"You were the one who brought her here to begin with," Face snapped. "What did you want with her?"

"Being guilty of murder and wanted by several former work associates, she was in a very tenuous situation. Since she had access to information that I wanted, she was offered a deal."

"What kind of information?"

"Information that is, unfortunately for her, no longer of any real value. The operation she knew about was otherwise taken care of in an unexpected," he glanced at Face, "turn of events."

"Why, I thought you planned for everything, General," Hannibal said.

"I do like to prepare. But surely you understand that it is impossible to account for every potential outcome when human nature is so unpredictable."

"Human nature is anything but unpredictable," Hannibal corrected. "It repeats the same damn cycle over and over again. Kind of like you. Which is how I know you still want something, or you wouldn't have burned her. You would've just let her go."

"She was never a prisoner," Stockwell protested. "I merely stopped intervening on her behalf. She was welcome to leave at any time."

"You were awfully quick to respond when she was arrested," Face said coldly.

"Respond?" Stockwell raised his eyebrows as if surprised by that.

"You showed up at the compound within seconds of her phone call," Hannibal reminded him. "And yes, we noticed."

Taking another sip, Stockwell set the glass down and looked Hannibal square in the eye. "I can assure you, Colonel Smith, that I have no intention of responding to Ms. Richards and her current situation. Involvement on my part would be unprofitable to say the least."

Hannibal's eyes narrowed into slits. He could call his bluff, but his gut told him the man wasn't bluffing. He'd shown up at the compound for a reason. The calm non-disclosure he was showing now led Hannibal to believe he'd gotten what he was after. She truly was disposable now.

It couldn't be as simple as pissing off Murdock. Stockwell was a lot of things, but he wasn't petty. He wasn't wasteful, either. Whether or not Beverly could now fulfill his original purpose for her, he'd use her any way he could in the meantime. And in any case, Hannibal had gotten more information out of him than he'd thought he would. He didn't like what he'd found, but at least he had answers.

"So she's worn out her usefulness to you and you have no interest in her." Hannibal stood up straight again, pushing off the desk. "Then I assume you have no interest in any _additional _efforts to keep her in jail."

"There is no incentive for me to interfere in her life at this time."

The underlying implication was unspoken but very clear. Stockwell could burn her or he could help her, but with a self-serving rationale, he would do neither. Hannibal wanted to ask why. Why burn her in the first place if he had no incentive? But he wouldn't get an answer to that and he knew it. It was pointless to ask. As it was pointless to continue this conversation in any capacity. Stockwell had a self-satisfied smirk on his face, and Hannibal had his next move. Neither needed to involve the other.

Hannibal glared at him once more before he turned away. "Let's go, Face."

Face's smile broadened, the patently false grin of a socialite. "Always a pleasure, General."

Stockwell waited until they where almost at the door before he spoke again. "Due to injuries, your schedules have been cleared, as you are aware. However I do expect to see you and your team at oh-eight hundred on Thursday morning. After all, there is only so long the world can wait for Captain Murdock."

Hannibal said nothing. He kept his expression impassive through sheer force of will, exiting the office and then the jet without a word.

"What do we do now, Hannibal?" Face asked as they headed down the steps to the tarmac.

"He gave us more than I thought he would, but not what we really needed." He shielded his eyes from the sun as he looked towards where the car was parked. "We still don't know what he wanted with her, why he brought her here."

"And you have a plan for that?"

"I need you to drop me off at the precinct. Then lose your guard dogs and do as full a work up on her as you can. I'll see what I can get out of her. He wanted something, we need to know what."

Face frowned. "Uh, Hannibal, a full workup on her is probably what's sitting right in that man's desk." He pointed over his shoulder.

"Well, if you think you can get it out of his desk, you're welcome to try." Hannibal smiled broadly. "Otherwise I suggest you start with whatever Murdock knows about her. And she's got to have a birth certificate somewhere around her apartment. Send Murdock to go find it while you pull her record from the DMV. That should at least give you a place to start."

"Right." Face sighed as he slipped into the driver's seat. "Why do I have the feeling this is going to be a very long day?"

Hannibal got into the passenger side, then stopped and looked at Face. "Let me ask you something, Lieutenant."

Face glanced over and raised a brow. "Yeah?"

"This girl," Hannibal started hesitantly. "She did _commit _this murder she just got locked up for."

The question was implied. And it made Face pause. Finally, he looked Hannibal square in the eye. "I probably would've shot him myself if I'd had the chance she did."

Hannibal watched him for a long moment, then nodded as he turned to look out the windshield. "That's all I needed to know."

_Feb. 4, 1988, 15__:39:14 Smith and Peck leave headquarters._

_Feb. 4, 1988, 15__:58:21 Peck drops off Smith at police station on 5__th__ and Jackston. Peck continues SW on 5__th__ to overpass, crosses all lanes to freeway and heads E on I-92. Unable to follow._


	10. Chapter Eight

**CHAPTER EIGHT**

It had taken less effort than Hannibal would have expected to pass himself off as Beverly's lawyer. The US Marshalls who had welcomed him were full of smug smiles. The tape - which they were happy to show him - dispelled any lingering thoughts that her real lawyer, when they got her one, would get her off the hook. It was security footage of some sort - undoubtedly from a hidden camera she hadn't known about. Either that or someone had done a _damn _good job of impersonating her as she shot her sleeping victim in the head.

The execution-style murder was still fresh in his mind as he stepped through the door and into the interrogation room, where she was waiting alone. There were benefits to working in a system with hard fast rules. All communications with lawyers were privileged information. He didn't have to worry about anyone listening. Ironic that people behind bars had more privacy then he or the team had. He pushed that thought aside as he approached the table.

"You wouldn't by any chance have a cigarette."

It was her best attempt at neutral, but the hope was plainly evident. Hannibal had to push back his urge to smile at that. He was all too familiar with the need for nicotine following incarceration. The sudden loss of freedom was a sobering, cold, and frightening experience; having to go through that without the calming effect of a nicotine fix was bound to make things worse for all parties.

"No, but that shouldn't be too hard to rectify."

He rang for the guard. A few minutes of low conversation in the hallway and a twenty dollar bill later, he had a little over half a pack of Camel lights. He waited until the guard had left them alone to push the slightly worse for wear pack across the table towards her.

Her eyes remained locked on him for a long moment, like she didn't trust the pack. He smiled, as comfortingly as he could manage, as he set his briefcase on the table. "Not your brand?" he guessed.

She didn't answer. She just took the pack, tapped one of the cigarettes out, and set it between her lips just as he set his lighter on the table and slid it across to her. The only sound was the scratch of the lighter and the scraping of the metal chair on the floor as he sat down across from her. He let the silence linger, more than content to let her regain her bearings before trying to question her.

She breathed deep on the cigarette, eyes closed. For a few seconds, she had nothing to say. Then, finally, she looked back at him. She was trying for quiet and unaffected, but she was tired. He could tell by looking at her that she would probably really appreciate a nap right about now.

"Who are you?" she asked flatly.

"Hannibal Smith." He nodded towards her. "Murdock sent me."

She was watching him impassively. "You're a lawyer?"

"No. I'm the man who's in charge of the team that is going to get you out of here."

She blinked slowly as she watched him, studying him carefully as if she knew she should be wary, but was just too tired. "Murdock's team." It wasn't clear if it was a question or not. She took another drag before continuing emotionlessly. "So you're the one who sends him all over the world doing things he can't talk about?"

"No." Hannibal reached into his pocket for a cigar. He looked down just long enough to light it. "I'm the one who tries to get them all back in one piece."

She didn't flinch. There was no reaction whatsoever as she studied him. Taking a puff on his cigar, he rolled the smoke around for a second before looking back at the woman his pilot was in love with. She wasn't gorgeous, especially not in the fine garments she was presently wearing, but she wasn't bad looking, either.

"The man who made the deal with you," Hannibal asked, keeping his tone casual. "When you came back to the States. What do you remember about him?"

"I called him Agent Richard and he was an incompetent asshole."

Hannibal smiled. "No, I mean his boss. Murdock said you'd talked to him."

"God, that was a long time ago. And I told Murdock everything I knew back then."

"Yes, I know. But I need you to tell me now. Everything you can remember."

"His name was Stockwell. He welcomed me on board the operation and I never heard from him again."

"Had you ever heard his name before that conversation?"  
"No."

She took another drag and looked away, continuing under her breath. "Anyways, what does it matter? All he was supposed to do was protect me from Travis. Which he clearly didn't do."

She stood, and turned away, pacing a few steps. Hannibal could feel the anger and frustration from where he sat. He couldn't blame her, or promise that what he was about to tell her would make it any better. But the fact was, they lacked the time to do anything with delicacy.

Holding his cigar in one hand he gesture towards her with it. "You may not have heard from him again, but I suspect he's not done with you."

"Yeah, Murdock's said the same thing. At least, he's implied it."

Hannibal paused just long enough to take another pull off his cigar, giving her an openly assessing look. "The question we need to answer is just what brought you to his attention in the first place."

She sighed audibly. "Look. If I knew that, I would've told Murdock when he asked me the same damn thing. I don't know what he wanted with me. He told me he was with the FBI and they were going to shut Travis down and they needed my help. He just brought me here, and then he dropped off the face of the earth. That's it. That's all I know."

"Aside from Andre and the guns in San Antonio, were you ever involved in anything illegal or international?"

She hesitated at that, and took another drag, rubbing her forehead. "Uh…"

"I don't _care_; I just need to know."

"Some tax evasion, fraud, identity theft."

"What kind of fraud."  
"Small scale. Whatever it took to grow the operation. But nothing..." She frowned deeply as she looked up at him. "What is it you're looking for? If I know, maybe I can answer your questions better."

"I wish I could tell you. But I really can't be any more specific because I don't know. Right now, we're considering any reason at all that Stockwell might have been interested in you _besides_ the guns."

"Why besides the guns?"

"Because that's over. And instead of losing interest in you, he chose now to burn you."

"Burn me?"

Hannibal nodded, and his voice lowered a notch. "Where do you think they got the video tape, Beverly? And why now?"

The words hit her like a blow to the chest. Taking another drag on her cigarette, she paused to lick her lips. "I have no idea what he wants," she said, her voice tired. "Like I said, I've hardly even talked to him. I couldn't pick him out of a crowd."

Hannibal put his cigar back in his mouth and leaned back a little. "Then we're going to have to start digging." He smiled around his cigar. "So Ms. Richards, tell me about yourself."

_Feb. 4, 1988, 17__:09:43 Smith leaves police station, secures ride with Abel 4._

*X*X*X*

"You wanted to see me, General?"

Stockwell looked up from his desk, and the papers he was looking through in an open folder. Beside them was a small stack of folders he either had yet to go through or had already finished. He leaned back with a polite smile, and gestured to the chair across the desk. "Please, sit."

Keeping her shoulders back and expression impassive, Suzanne moved to the chair with a forced confidence. Dealing with Stockwell was another dangerous part of her job. The man always seemed to know things he shouldn't and he always gave the impression that there was much more he knew than what he was telling. He had this way of creating an atmosphere just like being called to the principal's office.

With practiced grace, she sat in the chair he indicated. Smoothing her skirt and crossing her legs at the ankles, she made herself the very study of professional calm as she waited for him to start. He seemed content to let her sweat for a few minutes. Finally, he spoke with that low, even tone that somehow seemed to amplify that feeling of being a child reprimanded by a grown up.

"I've noticed that your reports seem to be substantially lacking detail lately." He steepled his fingers, elbows resting on the arms of the chair. "In fact, half the time you're not reporting your conversations with Smith at all. I thought perhaps a verbal report would be more suited to your liking."

Suzanne remained calm and professional. It was easier to do when she knew he was trying to elicit feelings of insecurity and doubt in her. If she showed any signs of a reaction, it would only encourage him. With nothing but complete professionalism, she looked him in the eye.

"My reports reflect all pertinent information on Smith. But of course, I will be happy to offer a verbal report if that is your preference, General." She gave a polite smile. "Where would you like me to start?"

The way he was watching her, eyes boring into her, reminded Suzanne of a lion stalking its next meal. "You may start with the conversation from last night." Stockwell paused. "It must have been fairly involved since you didn't emerge from his bedroom until three o'clock this morning."

Her immediate reaction was to push aside all emotion. He wasn't supposed to know that. She'd been careful to avoid the cameras. She was always careful. She couldn't afford not to be. Aware that her heart was beating a little faster, she maintained her mask even as her mind rushed to digest the facts and the implications. How in the hell did he know?

The neutral tone in her reply was a testament to a lifetime of practice. Like a computer she recited the details with no expression or intonation. "Smith expressed concern for Captain Murdock and his injury. He also voiced displeasure at having so many missions with little rest. He feels that the lack of 'down time' is causing difficulties and will lead to decreasing odds of successful assignments."

Taking a breath, she shifted slightly leaning forward as she added. "My personal assessment is that easing some of the restrictions Smith and his team currently face may work to your benefit. The perception of freedom would make great strides towards alleviating the discord. It is my belief, General, that Smith has his own honor code that he will follow when he feels he is given a choice."

Stockwell smiled and gave a brief snort of laughter. "I'm sure that easing those restrictions would make your playtime with Colonel Smith much more enjoyable. But I don't see how it would make your information gathering any more fruitful."

Suzanne's mouth closed. She didn't trust herself to speak. Playtime? Her jaw twitched. The son of a bitch knew exactly what had been going on in Hannibal's room.

"For now I think we'll leave things the way they are."

Taking a deep breath, she folded her hands in her lap. She needed to redirect this conversation. "Colonel Smith would be much more likely to _give_ information on his own terms. If you try and force information from him, he will engage in a fight, which he is very good at and enjoys."

She ignored the playtime comment. Not only did it infuriate her but it was _none _of Stockwell's business.

"I'm sure you have reason to believe that you know him exceptionally well," Stockwell said with a nod. "But my relationship and what I want out of him is a bit different. So you'll understand if we disagree on this point. And you'll understand that we're going to do this my way."

The feel of her nails digging into her hands was the first indication she had of how tightly she was clenching her hands together. He watched her for a moment, then set the folder aside. On the front of it was written yesterday's date. The one he pulled next from the pile had the name "Beverly Richards" in block letters.

"I take it you heard of Captain Murdock's outburst this afternoon."

"Of course, General."

The response was automatic. Training let her answer without thinking. Thinking would lead to anger, which she could not afford at the moment. Besides, the file had caught her attention. Making sure to keep her eyes on his, she let her mind focus on the name. Beverly Richards. That was the woman Murdock was dating. Suddenly, Suzanne really wanted to see what was in that file. Why did Stockwell have a file on her?

"I want you to pay particular attention to Smith over the next few days and I want to see _complete_ reports." His glare was brief, but pointed. "Murdock's reaction to Richards' arrest was a bit more emotional than I had anticipated, and I suspect that Smith will be attempting to 'fix' the situation."

He eyed her, coldly. Without the slightest hint of physical intimidation or threat in his tone, it was still suddenly and immediately clear how dangerous the man in front of her was. "You're in a very unique position to find out what Smith is thinking and planning. And I fully expect that you will use that to your advantage if you wish to retain your position here."

Red hot anger and indignation washed through her as it suddenly occurred to her that her years of training and field experience meant _nothing _to this man. Did he think the only way she could be of use to him was on her back? Of course he did; it was clear in his veiled threat. If she wanted to keep her position with Stockwell, then she had better use her 'positions' with Hannibal. God damned son of a bitch.

It took a massive force of will on her part not to strike out at him. "I understand, Sir. And I am certain I will be able to use my assets to your advantage." No matter how hard she tried, she couldn't keep all of the hints of anger and bitterness out of that. She was nothing more than a whore to this man. But instead of dealing in cash, he expected her to use information as currency.

"Good." Stockwell set Richards' folder aside and pulled the next one - this one with the block letters "Abel 8" on the front. He slid it across to her. "You also forgot to sign your reports last week. I'll need you to do that so that I can file them."

He looked up as the door behind Suzanne opened, and Carla stepped inside. Her flat, even tone and smile matched the same one he always seemed to wear. "General? The limo is here to take you to your meeting with the secretary."

Stockwell nodded to her, and gathered the folders, except for the one Suzanne had in front of her. He set them in his desk drawer, then closed and locked it, slipping the key into his pocket as he stood. "Abel 8, I trust you can see your own way out. You may leave that on my desk when you're through signing it."

"Yes, Sir." She was trying for contrite and failing. But as she watched him go, the only thing on her mind was suddenly the folder in that top drawer.


	11. Chapter Nine

**CHAPTER NINE**

_Feb. 4, 1988, 16:55:19 Baracus, Santana, and Murdock arrive at apartment of Beverly Richards___

It was hard to believe that someone could have absolutely no legal record of their existence in their home. But in twenty minutes of searching through the boxes Beverly had moved to Murdock's apartment and never unpacked, they hadn't found a thing.

"No tax records, no deeds or titles or ownership papers, no birth certificate or social security card." Frankie glanced up from the desk as he leaned back in the leather chair. "Murdock, are you sure this girl isn't just a figment of your imagination?"

It was lighthearted, but he was serious too. Beverly Richards was a ghost. There was absolutely nothing in the filing cabinet of important papers that identified her.

"She spent the last few years before here on the run, trying real hard _not _to be her," Murdock reminded quietly. "And I don't think being told you're in protective custody 'cause someone with lots of guns and power is looking to kill you makes you prone to leaving things around. Know what I mean Frankie?"

"Hey, man," BA said, "I got a box of her picture albums here. But they don't match the pictures in the frames."

Murdock frowned. "What do you mean?"

"They all different people."

"Maybe they're friends?"

Frankie stood and walked to the bookshelf where he pulled one of the photo albums down - a grey one with a big red daisy on the front of it - and flipped it open. He glanced through the pages of black and white photos, looking for anyone who looked even remotely like Bev, at any age. But looking at photos of a happy, smiling family on the crowded city streets of what looked like New York, and checking the dates written in the corner of the photos, he saw no one that resembled a twenty-year-old Bev. If he had to guess, based on the dates, that was about how old she should've been. He frowned and reached for another album, setting the first back on the shelf.

As he opened the next one, he saw a very different setting - a farm - and a very different family. But still no Bev. It was in the third book that he recognized one of the faces from a photo on the wall. A smiling young girl on a horse on the wall, and the same girl in the same dress sitting on the porch of a suburban brick house.

"Same girl." He held up the album to the wall for comparison. "But not _our_ girl."

"She said once that she had been traveling since she was seventeen," Murdock said. "I'd guess those albums were pretty important to her if she's kept them all this time."

"Nah, I got news for ya, Murdock..." Frankie spoke with caution. "She's not actually _in _any of these albums. And the dates overlap in half of them. They're family photos alright... but they ain't her family."

Murdock turned and stared at Frankie, clearly not sure how to take that. "Even if they're not, they meant something for her to keep them." Pushing off the wall he was leaning on, he hobbled over to Frankie and put a hand on his shoulder. "Other than that, I don't know what to tell you."

Frankie sighed. "Well I know one thing I can't tell you." He put the album back on the shelf. "I can't tell you anything about her family, or her background, or what in the world Stockwell might've wanted with her. So I sure hope Hannibal and Face are having more luck than we are."

Murdock squeezed Frankie's shoulder before he dropped his hand back down. "Look at it this way. It would be hard for them to have _worse _luck then we are."

_Feb. 4, 1988, 18:46:19 Baracus and Santana leave apartment of Beverly Richards__.___

*X*X*X*

_Feb. 4, 1988, 19:03:21 Smith and Peck meet in pool house_

"I have absolutely nothing on her." Face was clearly irritated. "Of course, that's not entirely surprising when I've only got a few hours, no social security number, no date of birth, no idea where she was born…"

"Face," Hannibal's mock disappointment was purely intended to irritate him further. "You mean to tell me you're losing your touch?"

Face glared, and pointed at him. "First off, I have no contacts here. Secondly, I'm trying to do all of this while ducking in and out of -"

The opening door of the pool house made him cut off abruptly, and they both turned as Suzanne stepped into the room with a broad smile.

_Feb. 4, 1988, 20:09:10 Abel 8 arrives at pool house._

She closed the door behind her and locked it as she came closer, uninvited and not the least bit shy. "Thank me."

Hannibal raised a brow. "For what?"

She held up a folder, then presented it to him with an even bigger smile. "For that."

Hannibal eyed her curiously for a long moment, then looked down at the folder in his hands. The instant he opened it, he knew what it was. "Tell me this isn't the original," he said, slightly worried.

Suzanne gave him a glare. "Please."

Good. If it had been the original, Stockwell was sure to notice it was missing. More importantly, he'd probably have a pretty good idea who took it, and where to find it. But reassured that it was only a copy, Hannibal found himself smiling at the fact that it was a copy of the exact information they needed.

"Beverly Richards," he recited from the file. "Born Beverly Jones on November 10, 1946, mother Mary Jones and father Jacob Jones."

"Common enough names," Face said. "Might still make her hard to trace."

"Yeah, and it's a home birth certificate. No county listed." He smiled as he glanced up. "But it's from the state of Florida. That narrows it down."

"Terrific," Face answered dryly.

Hannibal perused through the contents quickly, looking for anything obvious.

"What about a social security number?" Face asked. "That would help."

"No social in here." Hannibal frowned. That was odd. Stockwell had to have that. Why wasn't it in the file? "But I do have marriage licenses. One from 65 to a George Sams in New York City. Divorced in 66 with a," he paused, "eight hundred thousand dollar settlement."

"That's a nice chunk of change."

"Mmm hmm," Hannibal mused. "With that kind of money, there could potentially be something there worth Stockwell's attention."

"Why?" Face asked. "It's not like Stockwell needs cash. And it's not _that _much."

"Not the money itself," Hannibal granted. "But whatever is associated with it."

"I've never heard of Sams," Suzanne said. She moved towards the sofa, pulling her cigarettes out of her pocket along the way. "But that just means he's not a particularly well known international player."

"Well, it's probably not enough money to make him qualify for that," Face pointed out with a slight smile.

Suzanne ducked her head, tapping out a cigarette and setting the pack on the end table. Hannibal watched her for a moment. There was something off about that look in her eye. He couldn't think about it now. He looked back down at the folder.

"She remarried in 78 to a Paul Raven and," he frowned, "changed her name to Richards."

He checked it again, but that was clearly what it said. Richards, and not Raven. Why would she do that?

"How long did that one last?" Face asked.

"Death certificate on the second husband is from 79," Hannibal informed. "Respiratory arrest. And she inherited... almost two million."

"Seems like she had a thing for wealthy men," Suzanne said quietly, eyes lowered. "At least until now."

"Well, Murdock's not exactly hurting for cash, either," Face mused. "But unless he _told _her, she'd have no way of knowing that."

"Unless she got her information elsewhere." Her head was still down, not making eye contact.

"Not too many other places she could've gotten it," Hannibal answered. "Outside of the team, no one knows he's that number on the Swiss bank account."

"Murdock still works crazy jobs on the side to pay his rent in a cheap, roach-infested apartment."

She looked up slowly, eyes lingering on Face. "Stockwell knows a hell of a lot of things he's got no business knowing."

"Alright." Hannibal closed the folder and handed it off to Face. "Check out these husbands. See if there's anything dirty about their money."

"Right."

"Team debriefing tomorrow morning, ten a.m. Let everyone know, will you?"

Face nodded and stepped toward the door with Suzanne a step behind. "You stay," he said, stopping her. It was a casual order, but still an order. After a moment of staring at him, she looked away again, and stayed put.

*X*X*X*

_Feb. 4, 1988, 20:25:44 Peck leaves pool house, Abel 8 and Smith remain_

Suzanne was debating the merit of a drink as she wandered over to the bar and leaned against it. Drinking wouldn't help, and she knew it. But there were worse things she could do with her emotions right now than drown them. Her anger at Stockwell had mostly faded. Taking his information and time had helped with that. It was a small thing, a token vengeance.

The man was an ass. But in a way, that worked to the team's benefit. She might not have even thought about stealing that file, were it any other way. Her mind lingered there for a long moment. Carla was normally the only one with free access to that office. It seemed odd that he'd left her there unguarded, but he had taken the time and effort to lock up the files first.

Suzanne's thoughts wound around and around that. It wasn't a guilty conscience; far from it. But always had a tendency to find out things he shouldn't know. There had been no camera, she was sure of that. She had checked. Besides, he wouldn't want his dealings on tape.

His new, state-of-the-art copy machine was quick and quiet, and she'd returned everything just as she'd found it in only a matter of seconds. She'd walked right past them both with the copies in the waistband of her skirt, behind her backup piece and hidden under her jacket. They didn't know. They wouldn't know. But still, Stockwell simply made her paranoid. He was probably watching them right now.

No. They would've cleared the pool house. There was no way Hannibal would risk that kind of discussion with Face with someone watching or listening. Still the idea that someone was out there watching when she came in and left, recording her every move… It was no wonder she felt uncomfortable in her own skin.

"What's on your mind, Suzy?"

Hannibal's voice snapped her out of her thoughts. She watched him quietly as he grabbed two glasses and the bottle of scotch from underneath the bar. He poured, and slid one glass over to her. She stared at it for a moment, saying nothing. There was a lot on her mind. But one thing in particular needed to be discussed with him.

"Stockwell knows." She glanced up. "About us."

Hannibal took a sip of scotch and answered casually. "Of course he does. Are you surprised?"

She closed her eyes at that. It felt like a blow, although she was sure that wasn't how he'd intended it. He'd tried to tell her from the start, but she didn't want to hear it. But the fact that she was apparently the only one naive enough to think it could be otherwise did little to sooth the strange and conflicting feelings inside of her.

Looking up again, she gave him a tight smile. "Not as surprised as I was when he informed me that I needed to keep sleeping with you if I wanted to keep my job."

Hannibal chuckled quietly. She lifted her glass and closed her eyes as she drank in the scent of the scotch. It reminded her of him. She had far more fondness for the scent than the taste.

"Stockwell likes to feel like he's the one holding the leash," Hannibal said quietly. "He knows you're going to keep doing it so _ordering _you to do it helps him to maintain that sense of control. It doesn't really change anything, except how you feel about it. Classic manipulative leadership."

A humorless laugh escaped her. "I feel like a fool."

"Why? Because you're one more person on the very long list of people he's manipulated?"

She closed her eyes. It was more than just the feeling of being used. It was the fact that Stockwell wanted to use her against him. And despite his warnings, she had walked right into it, dragging Hannibal right along with her.

"I should've been more careful," she said quietly. "You even tried to warn me. But I didn't understand. I didn't want to."

"Actually, what I said is, 'He's going to find out about it and there's nothing you can do to stop him.'"

She took a sip of the liquor and set it down before she looked up at him. "I didn't want to believe you," she said quietly. She swallowed hard. "I just wanted you. That was the only thing that mattered to me. And even knowing that he's watching, planning, manipulating…" She took a deep breath as she finished in a whisper, lowering her head. "I still want you."

She closed her eyes as she felt his fingers on her forehead, brushing her hair behind her ear. "I know." His voice was so casual, so far from worried, he could've been talking about his favorite TV show. "And I want you to keep your job. So I guess this works out well all the way around."

She looked up slowly. She had no idea what to say to that, or what to feel about it. Continuing down this road was dangerous; it was almost one hundred percent guaranteed to come back and bite them both in the ass. But there was no denying the sense of relief she felt when he smiled at her with that gleam in his eye.

His fingers hooked under her chin, and he leaned in as he pulled her closer, letting their lips touch lightly. She let out the breath she'd been holding without even knowing it, and he waited for her to draw another one before kissing her slowly, sliding his hand from her chin back into her hair. Somehow, dangerous and risky seemed to just add to his allure. Damn the consequences.

Her heart was beating faster as he pulled away slowly. "Perhaps you should start earning your pay," he teased.

She smiled as she licked his lips. "What did you have in mind?"

"You can start by locking the door." He grinned as his fingertips trailed lightly over the side of her neck. "And then getting out of those clothes."


	12. Chapter Ten

**CHAPTER TEN**

_Feb. 5, 1988, 02:22:53 Hourly status report. No activity. _

Murdock lay silently on the living room floor, staring up at the cheap popcorn stucco ceiling. He'd heard once that almost all apartments have the same stucco ceilings because they were so much easier to do than smooth ceilings. He had no idea how much truth was in that. His personal experience with just how many apartments had stucco ceilings and how many didn't was frankly rather limited. The Air Force Academy had acoustic tiles, Vietnam had canvas tents or battered tin and plywood hootches and the VA had ancient, chipped plaster. At this point he wasn't even certain where he had heard about stucco ceilings. Probably Chuck at the VA - not the most reliable source of information.

How reliable was the information he was getting now? His mind wandered as he considered the photos on the walls, in the albums. How much did it really matter? Bev had no past, at least none that she chose to remind herself of, or commemorate. It wouldn't be much different than if someone tried to piece together his history from just the contents of his apartment. All his meager personal items were in an old cigar box hidden inside the box spring of his mattress set. Murdock's only ties to his blood relatives were three old photos: one of his grandparents, one of his mother, and one of Alan and his wife in Nha Trang. Beyond that, he had his dog tags and some snapshots of the guys. He smiled a little at that thought. The team was his real family.

What bothered him wasn't what they hadn't found in Beverly's things; it was what they _had_ found. While his apartment was stark and barren, hers was full of smiling faces. Bev called them friends, told him stories about some of them, even. Those who weren't friends, she'd called her family. He was sure that in her mind these people were her family. But who were they? Did she even know? Was there one person in all of those photos who knew her, at all? Let alone as intimately as she knew them?

Murdock wasn't sure how, but he knewthe answer to that question. Nobody knew her. Most of these people probably had never even heard of her. Knowing that gave him a sinking feeling in his chest. It was that feeling of loss and endless loneliness, and it was something he hadn't felt in a long time.

He was never that alone now, not with the team. Murdock hadn't felt that cold, empty, hopelessness since he'd been locked in the darkness. Naked, starving, hurt, and knowing that no one would come to look for him because they'd thought he was dead. He had never been closer to death, just knowing that nobody knew he was alive. Nobody knew where he was, what he was going through. He had wanted to die. It would have been a welcome relief from the pain and nothingness. But he hadn't known how. Not how to die - he knew that. He just couldn't figure out how to stop living. It was a habit he couldn't break.

Murdock turned his head and looked at the photos, framed and hanging on her walls. The little girl in the white dress, holding the hand of small boy with dirt on his cheek; were they grown up and wondering if Bev was alright? The red haired woman smiling at the child on her lap. Did she pray for Bev, for someone to watch over her? Did any on these beautiful people with smiling faces worry about her? Or lie awake at night wondering if she was alive or dead? Did any of them care? Did anyone them even know her at all?

And if they didn't… just how alone was she?

The phone was ringing. Murdock pushed himself up immediately, not sure if he would reach it in time with his leg still giving him so much trouble. In fact, the answering machine had already picked up by the time he got there.

"Murdock? You home?"

He picked up the phone and shut the machine off, collapsing into the nearest chair. "Hey, Face."

"Hey. How are you holding up?"

"Oh, fine," Murdock lied. "I'm good. Just... thinking a little bit."

"Hannibal wants to meet in the morning and brief on what we know."

"Yeah?" Murdock hesitated for a moment. "What do we know, Face?"

"He hasn't told me anything about his conversation with her. But we did get a hold of Stockwell's files on her. Birth certificate and legal documents."

"Anything that might suggest she had a house fire or something?"

"House fire? No. Why?"

"Well, I never noticed it before but she just doesn't seem to have a lot of personal effects. Just wondering."

"The file we have is pretty much legal forms. You can ask Hannibal tomorrow if she said anything about it. I know he talked to her for quite a while."

"Alright," Murdock answered solemnly.

"You sure you're okay? You need anything?"

"No, no... I'm great, Faceman. I'll talk to you tomorrow, okay?"

"Sure thing. One of us will come pick you up in the morning."

"Sounds good. See you then."

"Bye."

*X*X*X*

"Good morning, General."

Carla stepped into the office with the surveillance reports from the day before at seven o'clock sharp. She was never a minute early or late. It was one of the things he admired about her.

"Thank you."

If she noticed the way his fingers brushed hers, she didn't say anything about it. As he opened the folder on his desk, she sat down gracefully in the chair across from him and began her updates.

"Abel 3 and 12 are switching positions tonight; they cleared it with me. Abel 8 is still in the pool house with Smith; I assume you spoke with her yesterday?"

He finished scanning the first page of the log, before looking at Carla. "Yes."

Carla nodded, but didn't answer. As Stockwell read over the second page, he continued. "Have you had a chance to review the tape?"

"Of course. She took the file, just as you suspected she would."

Stockwell smiled. "Good."

Carla tipped her head slightly. "I still wonder why you gave it to them. Smith is more than capable of arranging for a prison escape without the information in that file. And the more they know, the more questions they'll have."

It wasn't a real challenge. Far from it. It was that devil's advocate role again, and she played it well. "Colonel Smith likes to be informed. Especially about anyone who is involving his team in something with this level of risk. He would be asking questions regardless of my preferences. By getting the information in that file to him, we've ensured that he now has just enough information to waste valuable time searching for facts that I am perfectly willing for him to know. I've given them until Thursday. It will take them at least that long to know what they are looking for."

"Unless she tells them."

"She won't. She doesn't know what they're looking for, first of all. And it is also, to her, a closely guarded secret."

Stockwell turned the page again and smiled at Carla, who was watching him with amusement. "Additionally, by arranging for Abel 8 to steal that information, not only have I given it credence - as Colonel Smith would not have trusted the information in the file if I had just given it to him - I now have video evidence of his good friend committing what could be construed as an act of treason."

Carla actually chuckled at that. "Well played, General."

Stockwell smiled. Yes, this was going even better than he'd planned.

She leaned back, still smiling. "Are you prepared to get Smith out of jail when his brilliant rescue attempt fails?"

"Once he agrees to my terms." He shifted forward picking up the folder and finishing his morning reading. "When the diamonds are returned to me, then he and his team may be permitted back to the compound. Perhaps with an increased appreciation of what I have offered them."

"Perhaps," Carla granted, though she didn't sound convinced.

As he reread the last page of the log, he frowned. "I do see that they are spending a lot of time at Captain Murdock's apartment."

"They'll find nothing. The apartment is clean. I had Abel 12 and Abel 7 check to make sure there was nothing that would raise their suspicions."

"I understand. But I don't like taking unnecessary risks. There are some questions I would rather they do not ask, and I don't like the idea of them asking those questions in a place where I am not even able to monitor them."

She raised a brow. "It may be something of a challenge to keep them away. Restricting their access will only raise their suspicions."

Closing the folder, Stockwell contemplated his options. Captain Murdock's wanderings were of little interest to him normally, but in this instance, they were beginning to be an annoyance worth intercepting. "Have Abel 12 arrange for several listening devices. Colonel Smith and his team are up against a hard deadline and the chances of them coming across anything significant are remote at best. But if they do, I want to know about it."

She nodded, smiling as she stood. "As you wish. Anything else that needs to be addressed today?"

His mouth twitched up into a smile. "Have three copies of the surveillance tape of Abel 8 made and have them sent to the usual secure locations."

"Alright."

His smile remained as he handed the folder back to her to be filled away. "And then please see to it that the senator confirms our ten a.m. meeting for tomorrow."


	13. Chapter Eleven

**CHAPTER ELEVEN**

The knock on the door wasn't expected, but he could tell by the pattern who it was. Lying on his back on the living room floor with his hurt leg stretched out, staring up at the ceiling, Murdock blinked slowly before calling out, "It's open."

He heard the hinges creak as the door swung open.

"Hey, Murdock, how's it goin'?"

Frankie's voice didn't match Hannibal's knock. Looking up, he watched as the whole team filed inside. "We decided to bring the meeting to you," Hannibal stated. "Much easier this way to ensure that we're not being watched."

Murdock didn't get up. He just turned back to look at the ceiling.

"You got quite the collage goin' on here," Frankie noted.

"You okay?" BA asked, his tone slightly worried.

For a brief second, Murdock thought about false reassurance. But that was pointless. The team would see right though it. Still looking up at the ceiling he gave a tight smile. "I'm just trying to find out about Bev and her past."

"Find anything interesting?" Face asked, finally closing the door behind him.

"Sort of." Murdock sat up. "I figured with all the runnin' she's done, she only kept the letters and photos that mattered somehow."

Hannibal sat down on the sofa, picking up a handful of photos off the floor. "Frankie mentioned something about the pictures. But he said they weren't even of her family."

"They're not," Murdock confirmed. "Not by blood. But blood don't always make family."

"So you think these are her pseudo family?"

Murdock paused for a long moment. "Honestly? My best guess is that it's a wish list."

He could tell by the look that Hannibal gave him that a photo wish list was a foreign concept to him.

"It's a collection of all the things she thinks a family should be. Smiling snapshots of happy people in pretty places. All the things someone might dream about when they think about a family."

Hannibal studied him curiously. "Alright. So how does that help us?"

"Well…" He slowly pushed himself up into a sitting position and he scanned the floor, pushing aside a worn letter and carefully picking up a large group photo. "It led me to this."

Hannibal took the photo as Murdock extended it, and studied it for a moment. The rest of the team moved closer, to stare over his shoulder. "What is this?"

"She's the tall blonde in the back row, fifth from the left."

Hannibal studied the photo carefully. It was just a class photo. And Murdock could see the skepticism on his face before he heard it in his tone. "You think she did something in high school that put Stockwell onto her trail?"

"That's the thing, Hannibal." He leaned forward. "Let's say this isn't about the guns, or money, because Stockwell doesn't care about either. What's the one thing Stockwell _does_ deal in?"

Hannibal's brow furrowed slightly. "Favors. Information."

"What if that information has nothing at all to do with guns or drugs or money or exes? What if it has to do with _her_?"

"Except before moving here," Face said, "she'd never been within five hundred miles of anyone on this team."

"Well, maybe it's not about the team. Maybe it's about someone else somehow connected with us."

Hannibal raised a brow. "Why complicate it unnecessarily? Stockwell would've just gone to that person."

"Maybe he couldn't."

Hannibal sighed, and raised a hand to massage his forehead, as if he had a headache.

"Hannibal, when she was talking to you, did she say anything at all about where she grew up? Anything at all before the age of twenty?"

"Sure. But I didn't ask for many specifics once I found out that our paths never could've crossed."

"Did she talk about any bad experiences? As a kid, I mean."

"No. But again, I didn't ask."

"Did she tell you _where _she grew up?"

"Miami."

Murdock pointed to the photo that had made its way to BA's hands. "That look like Florida to you?"

Hannibal frowned.

"Now lemme tell you what _does _look like Florida is all these fake pictures all over of smiling people having fun. That's all the wish list. Butthat class photo isthe reality. And if she told you anything different, she's not being honest with you."

He stopped himself. Why did he suddenly feel like he was betraying her somehow? His last words burned on his lips, and he immediately wanted to take them back. What if she _wasn't _being honest? She owed them nothing. If she wanted to keep certain aspects of her life to herself, that was her prerogative.

The guilt was burning a hole in his chest, the more time he spent here on the living room floor, surrounded by her secrets, putting them on display for all the world to see. He wanted to know all about her, but not like this. The longer he sat with her things, her scent, her memories, the more he wanted to hear the stories as she told them. He was invading her privacy, and he hated that. But the fact of the matter was, he had absolutely no idea how much of what he knew about her was the truth, and how much was a lie.

Hannibal handed the photo back. He didn't need to hear the words to know what Murdock was saying. "If she is hiding something, it's probably nothing that she thinks will help her case. She was more than happy to tell me all the details of her dealings with Andre."

Murdock stared for a long moment at the photo. Daniel Worrester High School in Tulsa Oklahoma.

"There are a couple of old envelopes with an Oakhurst, Oklahoma postmark," he said quietly, lost in thought. "Just the envelopes. Not the letters."

"What's your point?"

"That she's gone through a lot of trouble to hide her past, but not forget it. These pictures on the wall, they're _all _lies. And she didn't just come up with them overnight; she had to work at creating this image. But she couldn't get rid of the few really important things."

Hannibal was eyeing him skeptically. "Okay, so what are you saying?"

Murdock took a breath. "Right now, there's no reason to believe Stockwell ever cared about those guns."

"He said he wanted her for information," Face said. "Originally. He never explicitly said it was about the guns."

"Yeah, it could be about one of those guys she used to be married to."

Murdock blinked. "Married to?"

"Her file, from Stockwell, shows she's been married twice."

Murdock nodded slowly, tucking that away. He'd think about that later. Right now, he needed to focus. "Well, you can run down those guys she used to be married to, but if he wanted them, he would've gone after them, not her."

"And you think that picture is the key to all of this?" Face asked. "Because it proves she lied?"

Murdock took that on the chin and held up the picture as BA finally passed it back to him. "This is the _only _photo in this whole apartment that's actually her. It's gotta mean something to her."

"Alright." Hannibal took the photo again. "I'll ask her about it."

Murdock gave a slight smile, and a sigh of relief as he suddenly realized that was exactly what he'd been hoping for all along. "Thank you," he said as the tension in his shoulders slowly relaxed.

*X*X*X*

Hannibal didn't waste words. He set the photo down on the metal table in front of Bev, and watched the color drain from her face. Then he set a pack of cigarettes beside it, sat down, and leaned back.

"Thoughts?" he asked, eyeing her curiously.

She stared for a moment at the photo, then at the cigarettes. Saying nothing, she finally reached for the pack, lit one, and took a deep drag. He waited, but there was no response. Finally, he sighed. "Listen, lady. You seem like a smart person, so I'm going to cut right to the chase."

Shifting forward, he leaned his elbows on the table and dropped his smile. "I don't know you from Eve. Before I even had a chance to shake your hand, I watched you shoot a sleeping man point blank in the head. If that's the only thing I know for sure about you, I might as well just turn around and let you have your day in court."

"I don't know what you want me to say," she answered flatly, emotionlessly.

"Lying to me is _not_ in your best interest. If I didn't make that clear before, I hope you hear me say it now. So. What _else_ did you fail to disclose yesterday?"

Her jaw tightened. Eyes cold, she stared at him for a moment before shifting her gaze to the wall. She was going to stonewall him, he realized. That wasn't the reaction he'd expected.

"Is that where you grew up?" he pressed. "Tulsa, Oklahoma?"

Nothing. With a vacant stare, she watched the wall.

"Murdock mentioned Oakhurst, specifically."

She flinched, just slightly - just enough to let him know he'd touched a nerve. But still, she said nothing.

"Am I going to find answers in Oakhurst, Oklahoma?" he asked. "You might save me the trouble of going there and tell me right now what you're hiding."

"Nothing that your boss would be interested in is in Oakhurst," she snapped at him. She turned and glared hard at him. "And don't you _dare _go prying into my personal life like that."

"Ms. Richards, if you want to get out of this jail, you _have _no personal life."

"Well, in that case, you're fired. I'll be happy to rot here."

Hannibal studied her for a long moment, curious. Definitely not the response he'd been expecting. Time to move on to phase two.

"Murdock asked me to give you this."

The envelope he held out to her made her pause for a moment before she took it. Her name was on the back of it, in Murdock's handwriting. Hannibal watched as her expression softened. She even smiled. Then her eyes slid closed as she set the paper on the table.

"So, the official word, then, is that you don't want our help?"

She looked back up at him, and that coldness settled over her again. "There is _nothing _about Oakhurst that matters anymore."

"Tell me anyways." Hannibal pulled out a pad of paper and a pen from his briefcase. "Start with where you were born."

*X*X*X*

"The birth certificate Stockwell has on her isn't hers," Face said. "Beverly Jones died of lukemia at the age of ten. And we're back to square one on the paper trail."

"Well, I may be able to fill in some of the blanks," Hannibal offered, returning from Murdock's kitchen with a cup of coffee. "That is, assuming she was at least somewhat honest this time around. Albeit very reluctantly."

Murdock was quiet. BA took a seat on the sofa next to him, with a glass of milk in his hand. "Her original name was Janice Jones, and she grew up in Oakhurst, Oklahoma, just outside of Tulsa. She was born somewhere in Kansas, but isn't sure where. She says she never saw her birth certificate. The identity she has, she purchased in Miami, Florida, after she ran away from home at age seventeen. Six months later, she was married to her first husband."

"George Sams," Face filled in. "Partial owner of the New York City ballet, and at least three times her age when they married."

"Wow," Frankie said with a grin. "Talk about your cradle robber."

"Well, 'cradle robber' is the worst you can say about him," Face continued. "He's squeaky clean, nothing noteworthy."

"What about the other guy?"

Face consulted his notes. "The other was a Ford employee with a damn good streak of luck in the stock market. She met him on a cruise in the Mediterranean. He did some recreational drugs off and on, which was what ended up killing him in the end. No insurance policy - at least not a noteworthy one - but no kids, no family, so she inherited all of his investments."

"And solidified her fortune," Hannibal continued. "She says she never went back to Oakhurst. Never even considered it."

"And the problem is, none of this puts her anywhere even remotely near Stockwell - or us - at any point. No dealings with the government, never visited any international hot zones, never been to LA or Vietnam or knows anybody who has."

"In other words," BA said, "we don't know nothin'."

"Well, I don't know about that," Frankie answered with a grin. "A couple hours of research got me the phone number of that redheaded librarian."

Setting his mug down on the coffee table, Hannibal crossed his arms over his chest. They'd managed to dig, but they hadn't managed to find anything. The more they knew about who she was, the less it made sense that Stockwell wanted anything with her to begin with. She hadn't lived a normal life, but she hadn't lived one that should have been of any interest to him, either.

"What if it isn't anything about her, specifically?" Hannibal thought out loud.

Face frowned deeply. "So he just randomly picks people to go through all this trouble for?"

"Well, not entirely random," Hannibal corrected. "She's pretty, and smart, and has a reckless streak. She's the right age, tall…"

"What are you getting at?" Face asked. Hannibal could hear the skepticism in his voice.

"If I was going to play matchmaker, she'd be exactly the type of person I'd put in an apartment right next to Murdock."

The skepticism was now plain in Face's expression. "And why go all the way to Hawaii to do it? There's plenty of pretty, smart and tall girls with a restless streak right here in the neighborhood."

"But this one happened to have prime blackmail material."

Face shook his head. "I still don't buy it. Hawaii is a hell of a long way to go for a girl with blackmail material."

"And all the money and stuff," Frankie added. "There's gotta be some other reason."

"I still think it's got something to do with her past," Murdock said quietly. Hannibal looked up at him and their eyes locked hard. "We'll find out what we want if we go where she comes from."

"Why do you say that?" Face asked.

"Because those are her people," Murdock answered. "I grew up in a small town. All the people there know your secrets, no matter how far you run. Hell, if I went back home _today_, I'm sure people could tell me stuff about who I am and where I been that I didn't even know. And stuff that happened _after _I left."

"Seems like she did a pretty good job of cutting herself off from her small town," Hannibal observed.

"_Somebody_ kept in touch with her. The envelopes prove that. And even if they didn't, somebody's got a clue on where to look."

Hannibal eyed him for a long moment, quietly.

"What about siblings?" Frankie asked. "Does she have any?"

"She's got a younger brother, but he doesn't live there. He's a Detroit cop."

"She's talked about him," Murdock agreed. "They're about as close as you can be to someone you haven't seen in a decade."

"Anyone else?" Face questioned.

"And I'm not sure if she might have an older sister," Hannibal said. "Sometimes, she did, and then sometimes she seemed to forget about her and say she only had one brother. But it was never really convenient to stop her and clarify because it was always in the context of other things that seemed more important. Eventually, we ran out of time. Visiting hours were over. We never got back to it."

"She never mentioned a sister to me," Murdock said.

"You know, a big part of the problem is that we don't know when she's lying and when she's not."

Hannibal stood, and sighed as he paced toward the balcony doors. "We're spinning our wheels. She plays her hand close to the chest, and even if we could guarantee she was telling us everything we asked, there's no way to know for sure what Stockwell wants with her until he tells us."

"How do we make him do that?" Frankie asked.

Hannibal paused for a moment, then looked back. "By _not _doing what he's expecting us to do."

Murdock frowned. "What do you mean?"

"He's managed to tie us up for three days, running around in circles. He knew we would, and he knew we wouldn't find anything. He hasn't given us enough to work with yet. But I think he will. He's clearly not done with her, and he's counting on us to intervene."

"So we _don't _intervene?" Frankie asked.

"You realize that in that scenario, she goes to jail for a very long time," Face pointed out.

"I don't think Stockwell will let it get that far."

"What if you're wrong?" Murdock asked quietly. "If she's just a pawn, he probably doesn't give a damn if she lives or dies. And your suggestion to wait until he made a move is why she's in jail in the first place."

Hannibal raised a brow at the accusation. "You have another suggestion, Murdock?"

Jaw set, Murdock kept his eyes down. "You guys can do what you want. I appreciate how much you've helped so far. I'm going to Oakhurst."

*X*X*X*

"Well, I would of course love to help, Senator, but I don't see how the problem you're describing is suited to the kind of operation that I run." Stockwell smiled politely at the man seated across the large, dark wood table.

The man smiled back, but he was fidgeting nervously. It was hard not to notice. "I was under the impression that you ran all sorts of operations, General."

The soft knock on the door prevented Stockwell from answering. He glanced up as an unfamiliar young man in a suit and tie stepped into the room and approached him. "Sir, this message just came for you."

Stockwell nodded as he took the folded slip of paper. _Code Red. The storm is approaching._

With a perfectly practiced smile, he glanced up, across the table. "Senator, I'm very sorry, but something very important has just come up. May I use your phone?"

The man appeared shocked, but nodded immediately. "Of course." He gestured to the phone on the desk with a worried expression. "Nothing is wrong, I hope?"

"Oh, no. But it is a matter I must deal with immediately." He stood and crossed to the phone. "This will only take a moment."

Sure enough, Carla answered on the first ring. "Yes?"

He turned away from the Senator as he lowered his voice. "Tell Abel 12 and Abel 7 to move on Captain Murdock's apartment immediately and send backup to personally escort Smith's team back to the compound. I will be there in twenty minutes. And make it abundantly clear to them that anyone who cannot account for the whereabouts of that _entire_ team for those twenty minutes will answer to me."


	14. Chapter Twelve

**CHAPTER TWELVE**

"Colonel Smith!"

The loud knock on the door was startling. It had Face reaching for his pistol on reflex alone. He quickly corrected as he glanced at Hannibal.

"Did somebody order a pizza?" Frankie joked.

"Colonel Smith, open the door!"

That was Abel 12's voice. "No, Frankie, somebody ordered clowns."

Face raised a brow. "They have an impeccable sense of timing wouldn't you say?"

"They do have that," Hannibal answered offhandedly before he turned and raised his voice in the direction of the door. "Sorry guys, I'm very happy with my current religion and I have no interest in your literature."

The team was ready when Hannibal gestured to sweep the place. They'd swept it yesterday - just as a precaution, since Stockwell had never bothered to plant listening devices in Murdock's apartment - and found nothing. Murdock had been here most of the time since then, except to check the mail and pay the rent. Could that have possibly been enough time for the men in the car outside to bug the place?

The sweep was old hat - well rehearsed. And with so many hands, it went very quickly. They found both bugs, not even particularly well hidden, in thirty seconds flat. Face kept his voice low as he came in close to Hannibal again.

"If I had to guess, I'd call that," he nodded toward the door, "a knee-jerk reaction."

"Yeah, and Stockwell's not known for those," Hannibal agreed. "Looks like we hit a nerve, guys."

"Ah, is that a good thing?" Frankie asked, unsure.

BA growled. "I'd like ta hit more than his nerve." He ground his fist into his palm. "Where's this guy get off, puttin' bugs in this Murdock's apartment?"

Murdock's eyes were dead cold, full of that black anger that always had a tendency to worry Face. He didn't get like that often. When he did, and when he went as silent as he was right now, it was never a good thing.

Hannibal saw it, and clapped Murdock's shoulder. "Come on, Captain. Let's not keep the company waiting."

As Hannibal turned to greet the men at the door, Face made sure to position himself to exchange glances with Murdock. "You okay?" he asked quietly.

"No," Murdock answered, low in his throat. "But I will be."

Hannibal opened the door with a grin. Murdock turned his head away, fists clenching and releasing.

"Hi boys. Are you here to ask me to the sox hop? 'Cause I hate to disappoint you, but I already have a date."

Face put a hand on Murdock's shoulder. "They're just doing their job," he said low.

"Colonel Smith, you and your team are to report immediately to the compound. We'll escort you."

Murdock looked up slowly, and met Face's gaze with that same dark, cold look. "They're not the ones I'd like to kill right now."

***X*X*X***

"Until further notice, you are all confined to quarters."  
Hannibal said nothing, just watched quietly as the team stared at Stockwell in shocked disbelief. Well, except for Murdock. He was sitting stone still, elbows resting on his knees, hands clasped. His eyes were fixed on his shoes - the way they had been since the team had been escorted back to the compound.

"Any particular reason?" Face asked.

He sounded neither angry nor offended. In fact, it could've almost been called curiosity if not for the hint of challenge in his tone. The simple fact was, Stockwell had tried to confine them before and it never worked. Unless they _wanted _to remain in quarters, he couldn't force them.

"There is a situation in Brazil that may demand an immediate reaction," Stockwell said firmly. "I want you all on standby in case we have to move quickly."

Frankie stood still, jaw dropped, looking back and forth from Hannibal to Stockwell, as if he couldn't believe what he was hearing. It was no wonder. "A situation in Brazil" was bullshit, and they all knew it. Stockwell hadn't even picked a good country for an "immediate reaction" crisis.

"You sure this doesn't have anything to do with Beverly Richards?" Hannibal asked flatly.

At the sound of her name, Murdock's eyes lifted. But he didn't look at Stockwell. Instead, he sat staring at Hannibal for a long moment.

"Whatever do you mean?" Stockwell asked, feigning confusion.

BA was hovering near Murdock like a large, gold covered chopper. His attention had been divided between glaring at Stockwell and shooting covert glances at Murdock. Arms folded across his chest, he watched Stockwell like he was a large and annoying bug.

"She live next door to Murdock," BA shot. "We already know you know her. What you want with her?"

"That would be the 64-thousand dollar question," Face said, casting a smile first at BA, then at Stockwell. His body language never changed. He was lounging casually, seemingly relaxed, in one of the armchairs. But Hannibal was well aware that he was on high alert.

Stockwell looked at all of them in turn, finally landing on Hannibal. "I assure you, the situation in Brazil has absolutely nothing to do with Beverly Richards.:

"That doesn't answer the question, Stockwell," Hannibal replied. "At least not the larger and more important one."

"And what question might that be?"

"Your lap dogs jumped on that apartment like they were just waiting to pounce. All of a sudden, there's some vague mission in Brazil that you made no mention of when you gave us a few days of recovery time from the last one. And even if there _was_ some type of world-changing event about to happen in Brazil, you know precisely where to find us - as is evidenced by the fact that your agents _did_ pounce so quickly on us. There's no need to confine us. And you know it. So there's another reason."

Stockwell's flat eyes fixed on Hannibal and, slowly, a hard smile worked its way onto his face. "Whether or not you 'buy it' matters very little, Colonel. You have your orders, and they will be followed."

"Of course," Hannibal answered. "But just so we're clear, it _does _have something to do with Richards. And, I suspect, the fact that you don't want us digging around in her past."

Hannibal was pushing buttons, watching carefully for the reaction. Stockwell would never show his hand - at least not willingly. But it was the little things that meant a lot. Like the way that Stockwell stared at him with that perfectly schooled expressionless look.

"This matter is closed for discussion," Stockwell declared.

Sure enough, Hannibal had hit a nerve. The man had no qualms about lying, cheating, and stealing. But when it came down to trying to convince someone who wasn't going to believe it anyways, he'd watch his words if he was lying. He wouldn't lie outright. Like he wasn't doing now.

There was rustling sound as Murdock stood up, using his cane for support. BA was close behind him acting as both back up and sentry. If it looked like Murdock was going to go at Stockwell again, BA would be there to stop him. But there was nothing in Murdock's body language or expression that gave away any of the burning anger Hannibal knew he was feeling.

Murdock locked eyes on Stockwell and then he did something unexpected. He smiled. It was a cold caricature of a smile - a pale, emotionally void imitation that seemed somehow all them more alien on a man who was usually so open with his smile.

"Seems like you thought of everything, Hunt," Murdock said coldly. There was no hiding the blatant disrespect and mocking Murdock put into that name. "Except you and I don't have an agreement. You don't own _me_. And I'll be going to Oakhurst in the morning."

Each word was spoken with neutrality, but they were designed to be cutting and Murdock was wielding them like a knife. Stockwell stared at him steadily. The look on his face made Hannibal smile. He was making every attempt to hide his surprise, but he wasn't quite able to mask it all. It was endlessly amusing to Hannibal. Had he forgotten that he was the one who'd specifically excluded Murdock from his contract with the team? Or had he simply assumed that Murdock would do nothing autonomous from them?

It took a moment for Stockwell to find an answer. "You're absolutely right, Captain. I don't, as you say, own you. However, if we are forced to move on Brazil, we will not be waiting for you to return. Your team will go on without you."

Murdock's eyes shifted to Hannibal. The silent communication was instant - an unspoken bond that had been forged in the fires of the hell. Murdock wasn't looking for approval; he'd already stated what he was going to do. Instead, he was looking for understanding. Hannibal gave it - a fraction of a nod.

The team meant more to Murdock than his own life. The pilot had proven that time and time again. He would never leave them if he thought they were in real danger. But they weren't; this was all a power play on Stockwell's part. Murdock was calling him out - not abandoning the team but doing what he thought was right for the people he cared about. It was a man being a man. And Hannibal took no issue with that.

"I'm not much use with this leg," Murdock continued, looking at Stockwell again. "I'm sure the team understands."

Stockwell's jaw set. Clearly this was not part of his plan. His growing frustration was evident, but he kept silent. There really wasn't anything he could say. Technically, he probably had as much on Murdock as he did on Frankie. But in choosing to segregate Murdock away from the team, and treat him differently, he'd effectively separated Murdock from his control, as well. It was a good thing that he didn't even bother trying to justify any assertion to the contrary. Even if they belonged to Stockwell, Murdock was his own.

"Good luck, Captain," Hannibal offered, sincerely.

Murdock kept his eyes on Stockwell, but the cold smile softened just a bit as he nodded. "Thanks Hannibal." That was meant to address him, but when Murdock continued, it was clearly aimed at Stockwell. "I'm _sure _I'll find exactly what I'm looking for."


	15. Chapter Thirteen

**CHAPTER THIRTEEN**

Oakhurst was not the kind of small town that came to mind when Murdock had pictured it. He'd envisioned something more like the area he'd grown up in - a main street and houses dispersed in the area around it, farms and horses and small town mentalities. And maybe Oakhurst had been that once. But whatever it had been at one time, it wasn't that now.

On the one side of the state highway was a ditch and raised railroad tracks. Beyond that, farmland. Cows and dead grass and trees - not much more. On the other side was a gaping, open sore that had once been a quiet little residential area. The street he had come in on must have been the main one - it was a state highway, after all, and it would've been the main route to get from Tulsa to Sapulpa before the interstate had been built. It had been here before the town, he was pretty sure. So had the railroad tracks.

But any buildings that might have made it look like an old, historic town were long gone. No government buildings of any kind. No corner store. There was a gas station that was still operational, with bars on the windows and spray paint on the side. A few rotting cinderblock buildings, overrun by weeds and with trees growing out of the windows, must have once been local stores of some kind. He could see the remnants of a Coca Cola logo painted onto the side of one of them…

He thought of going into the gas station and asking if anyone knew where he might find the house he was looking for. Then he thought better of it. It wouldn't hurt to take a walk around. And he could use it. It would give him time to think, to clear his head. To figure out what he was going to say.

By the names on the mailboxes so far, he was guessing that everybody was somebody's cousin… The whole neighborhood, with its broken streets and dilapidated houses, was incestuous. And apparently the whole neighborhood had a special affinity for broken down cars. They used them as lawn ornaments at every other house. He wasn't _truly_ amused until he saw the house that had taken a bathroom sink, toilet, and bathtub and stuck them next to the rotting porch for use as flower pots. That part made him smile in spite of himself.

Stray dogs and cats kept their distance. Children who were entirely too old to be running around naked - at least in America - were playing in the sprinklers of fenced in houses. Murdock's eyes lingered on the mailboxes, long enough to read the names, but he tried not to look too hard at the houses. Did they even have electricity? In some of these places, he suspected not. Some of them looked just like hootches - corrugated tin and plywood. The further back, away from the highway, he ventured, the worse the houses looked.

There was a junkyard on the south end. From what he could see at the gate, it seemed to stretch for miles. He wasn't about to venture into it. Especially not when he saw the size of the rats scurrying across. Vietnam had cleared him of any genuine fear he might have ever had of rats; they were everywhere in some of the camps. And he'd gotten up close and personal with them more frequently than he would've liked. But he hadn't liked them then, and he didn't like them now.

There was a muddy creek that ran through the back of the neighborhood, where it butted up against the state turnpike. People towards the back of the neighborhood kept disassembled school busses in their yards instead of toilets and tubs. He followed it along the road for a bit, trying to trace the source of the water that should have otherwise evaporated, only to find that he was tracing it the wrong way. It dead ended at a road, in a pool of stagnant muck and mosquitoes. Nowhere near curious enough to backtrack the other way, Murdock moved on.

The Jones family lived in a clump on the southeast corner. What looked like one piece of partially-wooded property held three mobile homes, two RVs, fifteen cars in various states of disrepair, a black spray painted school bus, and a Twinkie-style travel trailer. There were children's toys strewn across the dirt yard, and a huge pile of what simply looked like trash - their own private landfill - off to the left. Two refrigerators were on the porch, and piles upon piles of clothes and various household items. A mouse scurried across the single step up. But that wasn't what was most eye catching. What got his attention, right off the bat, was the lack of a front DOOR. The hinges were there. The door was not. And before he'd even stepped up to the porch, he could see the TV on, just to the left of the doorway. The house was clearly inhabited.

"C'n I help you?"

The accent from the woman standing behind him was distinct - not like his, not like any he'd ever heard. It took him a moment to even comprehend the words. She was wearing a T-shirt that looked like it had never been washed and overalls that had been cut off at the knee and hung by only one strap. Wiping her hands on a red oil cloth, streaked with oil and dirt from head to toe with wrenches hanging out of her front pocket, the only logical assumption was that she'd been working on a car. A quick glance around the yard revealed that she had a number of them to choose from, and most of the hoods were open.

The smile Murdock gave was a credit to his Grandmother. She had demanded he learn manners, so he would always have something to "fall back on." Right now, he sure as hell felt like he had fallen - right down the rabbit hole. It suddenly occurred to him that he hadn't the slightest idea what in the hell he was supposed to say.

"Hello." He nodded his head at her. "My name is HM Murdock. I'm sorry to bother you, but is there any chance you're related to a woman named Janice Jones? She was born in Kansas but she grew up somewhere around here."

The woman stopped cold, and the look that came over her face was one of shock and concern. Immediately, she looked him up and down. "Janice. Yes." Her expression turned more wary. "Who are you? How do you know Jan?"

The woman barely got the question out before she turned and yelled over Murdock's shoulder. "Bobby Sue! Git down offa that roof 'fore you fall an' break yer neck!"

"Damn it, Shelly!" A man poked his head out from under the hood of one of the cars. "I told you to keep that kid offa the roof."

If he had to guess, Murdock would say that Shelly was the woman standing nearby, snapping her gum and resting her hand on her pregnant belly as if it were a built in shelving system. "Well exactly what am I supposed to do Donnie? He knows how to untie knots."

She sighed, waving flustered hands in the air as she took a step toward the roof kid, who was probably about six years old. "Get down here right now, and so help me god if you break anything again, I will make sure you never manage to climb anything again, got it?" She clapped her hands twice in close succession, expecting to immediately be obeyed.

A tug on his cane made Murdock look down. The kid standing beside him was probably five years old. "Can I have this?" It wasn't really a question. He apparently had the full intent of snagging that cane and running off with it.

"I kind of need that to walk."

"But I want it."

"Junior, go play," the woman standing in front of him said dismissively.

Murdock looked up again. She was staring, waiting expectantly for an answer. He'd forgotten the question. "I'm sorry, um…" The chaos made it hard to think. "Do you mind if I ask you some questions about Bev? Er - Janice? I'm a -"

"Bobby Sue, get _down_!"

"_Move_, Mister!" The kid latched a grubby hand onto the cane and gave a small pull, as though he was testing just how much strength it would take to topple Murdock.

He had no time to respond before a group of four children gathered at the door, firing questions and statements so rapidly he could scarcely keep up.

"Is it dinner time yet?"

"Aunt Marge, Max pulled my hair!"

"I did not!"

"Who is he?"

"He wanted to change the channel to a bad show."

"It's been a long time since lunch."

"Yeah, I'm starving!"

"Max shouldn't get dinner. He should go to bed."

The woman in front of him, who had to be the aforementioned "Aunt Marge," didn't respond to any of it. Instead, she focused on the kid at Murdock's side. "Junior, you need to go find something to play before I give you writing to do. Where's your sister?"

Junior twisted around to look up at Aunt Marge, a toothy smile in full effect, hand still latched on to Murdock's cane. "I dunno." He shrugged so large his whole body seemed to move.

"Well, go find 'er. Yer supposed to be watchin' her, remember?"

"Aunt Marge, when's dinner?"

"You a friend of hers?"

It took Murdock a second to realize the question was from an adult and it was directed at him. "Whose?" He couldn't help the question. Clarification was just the natural reaction to confusion.

"Jan's." She turned and tossed the oil rag in the general direction of the car. "We ain't seen her in... damn, more'n twenty years. She alright?"

The woman standing face to face with Murdock seemed to have no trouble blocking out all of the goings on around her. The kids still screaming for dinner, the one still pulling on his cane, the one climbing down from the roof of one of the trailers, the argument that had broken out between Donnie and Shelly. Aunt Marge ignored all of it as she looked him up and down, evaluating him carefully and waiting for more of an explanation.

"Yes," he answered confidently. "Yes she's… she's fine. I'm just wondering if you can -"

A loud scream cut him off and a girl about ten-years-old came peeling around the side of the house lickety-split. "Aunt Marge! Aunt Marge! Paulie's got a snake!"

The slightly younger boy behind her was carrying a garter snake in his hands, and wearing a sinister look on his face. "Come on Dena, he won't hurt you. He just wants to suck your blood!"

Dena gave another blood curdling scream and hid behind Aunt Marge. Junior pulled Murdock's cane surprisingly hard, almost dislodging it. Murdock looked back over his shoulder at the sound of crunching metal and saw another man, probably in his twenties, crush an empty beer can and toss it aside on his way to where they were standing. He grabbed Junior's hand away from the cane and spun him around, giving him a firm smack on the butt.

"Go find your sister."

Junior put on a world class pout but finally scampered away in no direction that would lead anyone to believe he was looking for his sister.

"Come on inside, HM," Aunt Marge offered. "I'll get you a drink."

Out of the corner of his eye, Murdock watched Bobbie Sue clamber back down the tree, to the side of the house to a stack of empty milk crates to some old tires before finally hitting dirt and scampering off.

"Watch that second step," Aunt Marge warned as she led the way into the house past the children at the door.

"Is it dinner time yet?"

"What are we having for dinner?"

"It's damn near rotten through." Aunt Marge's voice was almost lost amongst the kids and the blaring sound of the surprisingly large television set. MTV. They had no front door, but they had cable. Marge turned it down on her way past.

With a mixture of amusement and shock, he carefully limped his way after her. There was only a narrow walkway to the kitchen. On one side was the TV and beyond that, the rest of the room was piled to the ceiling with what looked like random garbage. On the other side was a sofa where the four children had taken up residence again - pushing and shoving - and more piles behind them. And... a computer? They lived in a place like this and could afford a computer?

The walls and ceiling were crawling with roaches. In and out of the light fixtures, the wallpaper, the holes in the walls. The scratching and scurrying in the landfill beyond the television - was that another door back there? To a bedroom? - were indicative of mice or quite possibly rats. If that _was_ another room back there, there was no access to it. The path from here to there was piled to the ceiling with boxes and trash and god-knows-what.  
Marge stopped in the kitchen and pulled open the fridge. The roaches scurried to avoid her hand. "What would you like? We got Budweiser, Coors light, Heineken - no, wait, that's Ricky's. No Heineken."

Murdock had seen poor. Hell he had grown up poor, at least when he'd lived with his old man who had drunk away any paycheck he managed to get his hands on. Murdock had even seen squalor in the fields and villages of Southeast Asia. But this was something else entirely. Bev had grown up here? He had been in psych wards that where quieter. It was like living in a pinball machine.

"Uh…" Offering what he hoped was a polite smile to the crumb-covered twenty-some woman who was eyeing him from the kitchen table, he turned to Marge. "Whatever you have more of is fine."

"Marge, who's this fella?" the girl asked, sucking the cheesy Cheetos residue from her fingers before wiping them down the front of her shirt. She ran her eyes up and down Murdock with a leer that did not leave any of her thoughts hidden. Oh boy, this was going to be interesting.

"Tawnie, this is HM and didn't I turn that TV down 'cause I coulda swore I did!" She glared at the boys who'd turned it back up the second she'd passed by.

Marge pulled two bottles of Budweiser out of the fridge and cracked the tops off expertly on the counter before handing one over to him.

"Thanks."

He took the bottle gratefully. Suddenly, a drink seemed like a damn fine idea. There was no way, even in his vivid imagination, that Tawnie looked like she could be related to Bev. Some part of him wanted to run as fast as he could out of the chaos, but some other part of him wanted to stay and learn, watch. Kind of like at the circus.

Marge looked at Tawnie. "HM here's a friend of yer Aunt Jan. You remember Aunt Jan, don't you?"

Tawnie would've probably been very young to remember Aunt Jan. But Murdock wasn't even going to try to work out ages and true family relations. Not in this household.

"Janny?" There was a tone of wonder as Tawnie sifted through memories. "Scrawny thing, right?"

"Well, now, I don't know." Marge looked back at Murdock. "How's she eatin'? She eatin' okay?"

Two small children - still in diapers although at least the one looked far too old for it - bolted past Murdock, screaming like wild banshees, with Junior hot on their heels.

"Damn it, Junior!" Marge yelled after them. "Knock it off 'fore I beat you good!"

All three disappeared outside, and Marge made no attempt to go after them.

Murdock took a very long drink.

"Girl never liked eatin' proper," Tawnie said. "Too damn spoiled. None of this Hamburger Helper for her. Nope. That was never good enough for her. She wanted that fancy… fish and stuff."

Murdock could feel his jaw tense, a sudden and unexpected surge of hostility that he rapidly pushed down. He turned his attention to Marge. They needed to go someplace more private to have this discussion. For now, all he could offer was vague. "She's doing fine. She's well cared -"

A hand on his side made him jump - not a good idea with one leg. He almost cocked his arm back to defend himself from an attack before he realized that it was Tawnie's chubby fingers pinching him. "Bet you ain't had a good meal in a long time, either."

Murdock breathed slow, trying to untense. "Um, is there someplace we can go to talk more privately? I have a few questions I need to ask you."

Marge studied him for a long moment, then finally nodded. "Come on out back, boy. I wanna show you somethin'."


	16. Chapter Fourteen

**CHAPTER FOURTEEN**

Marge led him down the hall, past the bathroom - there was no faucet on the sink, no curtain on the shower, and no seat on the toilet - and into a bedroom with bunks stacked on the wall just like a barracks. There were children on the bunks. He counted three before another suddenly poked his head out from underneath the blankets. Two of them moved only their eyes. They looked sick. One was dead asleep with a black cat wrapped around his neck. The third was rummaging for something. Marge addressed him on the way through.

"Peter, I told you to stay out of here while your cousins were tryin' to sleep."

The back door led out of that room. It actually had a door on the hinges. What was more comical, it had a deadbolt. Marge sighed as she tried to pull the door open, found it locked, then fought for a moment to get it to unlock.

"Kids like to play with this door," she said, both irritated and apologetic.  
It took her a few moments to get the door open. On the back porch, wide and screened but missing, once again, a door, cats bolted every which way as their relative calm was interrupted by somebody coming through the door. There were at least five. And more that had chosen to hide rather than run. They stared out at the two of them with glistening, reflective eyes.

The backyard extended further than Murdock would've guessed by looking at the front of it. More cars, more travel trailers, and a dilapidated tree house. And men, women, and children in all states of dress and drunkenness gathered everywhere. A couple of teenage boys were smoking in the front seat of a rusted, disassembled 60s model Mustang. Men playing horseshoes. More men tinkering with cars. Women nursing infants. Children with sticky hands and suckers in their mouths. Did anyone ever move away from this place? There were at least four generations here.

There was an odd similarity between this place and the villages in Vietnam. Half-dressed kids, wary men, women looking for an outsider. He didn't like thinking that about the place she had grown up in, but there was no stopping it. That oppressive hopelessness was everywhere, under the shouts and the laughter. Somehow, she'd had the drive to get the hell out of her, but it had cost her the only real family she'd ever known. It had cost her everything.

Marge led him through the backyard, past the wary glances of the men who knew an outsider when they saw one, all the way to the back of the property where a rickety fence separated it from the next house over. There was a structure there, far enough back from the noise that it wasn't so overwhelming. It looked like a travel trailer underneath, but it was covered with plastic tarps that had been staked into the ground. Marge knocked on the white plastic door.

It was a moment later that a young teenage girl with black hair, pale skin, and black lipstick answered the door. "Yeah?"

Marge smiled at her. "Marl, there's a guy here who's a friend of Jan's. Thought we might come in here where it's quiet to talk."

The girl looked at her for a moment, then at Murdock. "You're a friend of Janny's?" she asked, eyeing him skeptically.

He nodded, and extended a hand to her. "HM Murdock," he introduced.

She looked at his hand for a moment, then nodded and took a step back inside the trailer. Marge stepped up into the trailer first. It rocked as it adjusted to the weight, and as she took a single step to go around the bench and sit down on the far side of the table, giving Murdock room to come in.

Unlike everything else he'd seen, this trailer was impeccably neat and tidy. It was also small. And with the teenage girl sitting back down on the olive green sofa where her journal was still open in the corner, there still wasn't room for him to do anything but step inside and sit down at the table. Once he was seated, she extended a hand in greeting. "Nice to meet you Mr. Murdock."

He was stunned. The girl had manners. He smiled as he shook hands with her. "Nice to meet you, too."

"This is my niece, Marlaina," Marge introduced. "She's been looking after Bev's things while she's been away."

Murdock smiled. If she'd been watching Bev's things, that meant they still had them. He looked from the girl back to Marge, and took a deep breath. "I don't want to take up a lot of your time. And really, I can't stay for very long. But I was hoping you could tell me… some things about Bev."

"Well, like I said, we ain't seen her in a long time," Marge said apologetically.

"But anything about her you want to know from before she left…" Marlaina cut in. Murdock turned and looked at her and she smiled tightly. "I can tell you anything you want to know."

*X*X*X*

"Stir crazy" was not a strong enough word to describe what Hannibal was feeling. He was full of energy, thoughts racing, adrenaline flowing. But until Murdock got back, there was absolutely nothing for him to _do_ with that energy. Right now was a time for patience and planning and analyzing, not a time to act.

He could be patient if it meant a surer outcome.

Standing by his bedroom window with a cigar and a glass of scotch both in one hand, he looked out at the changing leaves, shaking in the cool fall breeze. Winter was coming. He hated the snow; always had. This was not at all what he'd intended when he'd planned to retire someplace warm. How on God's green earth had he ended up here, anyways? If he wasn't so anxious, staring out at the cold night that was setting in would probably make him feel very… tired.

The knock in his door was too soft to be one of Stockwell's flunkies. But there was no pattern to announce one of his team. That left only one person.

"Come in."

He didn't turn to look at her as she entered, focusing instead on the colors in the sky as the sun slowly set. It had been clear today - a nice change from the grey blanket that normally covered the sky lately. Too bad that also made it cold.

The lock turned on the door as it shut again, and he heard her footsteps, muted on the carpet. "Good evening, Hannibal."

"Evening."

He took a sip of scotch, and savored the taste as it burned his tongue. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched her turn and put her back against the windowsill, standing within touching distance, but far enough away not to crowd him. She was trying to gauge his mood.

"I hear you had an interesting day."

"Yeah, you might say that." He glanced at her and gave a knowing smile. "Though not as interesting as the next few days are probably going to be."

"Why do you say that?"

"Because Stockwell gave us the Thursday deadline for a reason. And I don't think he was at all counting on us being ready to move in Thursday."

"Setting you up to break the rules?"  
"Something like that." He took a sip from his glass. "It's hard to guess just how he plans for things to work out. But I know he had a plan. And I know Murdock threw a wrench in it."

"And now _you _have a plan," she observed quietly.

His smile broadened.

"You only ever get that look when you have a plan."

She moved closer, wedging herself between him and the window, still leaning back with her arms loosely crossed.

"You don't want to hear about my plan," he said quietly, watching her as she made herself comfortable.

"You're right, I don't."

Their gazes locked for a long moment. Then her eyes wandered as she reached out and slowly stroked his arm. "You know," she whispered, "you've managed to infuriate Stockwell."

"Oh yeah?" Words didn't describe just how pleased he was to hear that.

"Mmm hmm." Her hand stroked all the way up to his shoulder, then back down again. "Just the fact that people can _tell_ he is angry speaks volumes."

Hannibal chuckled. He couldn't have kept the smile off his face if he'd wanted to. "That's just what I wanted to hear."

He put his cigar between his teeth and stepped back, turning away. She stayed put as he wandered away from the window and sat down in the easy chair in the corner. He took another sip and set his glass down on the little table beside him before extending a hand toward her.

Her smile broadened as she crossed to him and took his hand. As he pulled her into his lap, she smiled, and settled against him. There were a few seconds of silence as he wrapped an arm around her and let her trace her fingers up and down his chest.

"I don't think my report from last night will help elevate Stockwell's mood."

Eyes closed, perfectly relaxed, he slid his hand under her jacket, brushing his thumb back and forth on the small of her back. "Why's that?"

"Well, he did demand 'complete' reports of your activities." The hint of mischief in her tone made him open his eyes, and he saw her smile wickedly. "I figure a couple of 'full reports' sprinkled with phrases like 'multi-orgasmic' and 'earth-shattering climax' and he'll be happy for less details."

Hannibal dropped his head back and laughed. "I love it."

"I thought you might."

He hooked his fingers under her chin and brought her lips to his for a quick kiss. It was always nice to throw Stockwell's plans back on him. Even more so when they cut to the very core of his intentions to make them all miserable.

Sighing softly, she rested her head on his shoulder. "Murdock slipped away from his bird dogs about ten miles from the compound."

"I'm surprised they didn't try to intercept him at the airport."

"Well, it depends on what you mean by 'intercept.'" She paused and pulled back just enough to look at him. "He couldn't very well _stop _him."

"Not directly. But he could certainly deter him."

She smirked. "Do you think it would've done any good at all?"

"No."

She let her hand rest flat against his chest she paused again. She was thinking something, and judging by her hesitancy, she was afraid to say it without an invitation.

"What's on your mind, Suzy?"

She took a deep breath, and let it out slow. "Do you think he will find the connection?"

Hannibal relaxed back, puffing on his cigar a few times before he set it in the ashtray and grabbed his scotch. His other hand moved further up her back, massaging gently. "I think he's determined enough that if there's anything there to find, he'll track it down."

"And if there's not?"

Hannibal shrugged. "He'll feel better for having looked. But I think there will be. Stockwell reacted too quickly, too strongly for there to be nothing."

Her arm slid across his chest and she went quiet for a moment. He could almost hear her organizing her thoughts. "John?"

She only called him that when she was being very open, or was very unsure and worried about how he would react. As much as she'd probably like to think otherwise, she was damn easy to read.

"Hmm?"

"Given her less than clear past, have you ever thought… about family relations?"

He was quiet a moment. "What about them?"

"Well, it's just…" She hesitated for a long moment. "Remember Face and his father? Stockwell can… no, he _would _use that."

Hannibal frowned, and set his glass back down, moving his hand to stroke gently up and down her thigh. "If there's a connection to exploit, like I said, Murdock will find it."

"That might not be a good thing, you know."

"Why do you say that?"

"Murdock has at least six sisters that we know of, and Oklahoma isn't that far from Texas."

Hannibal frowned. In truth, the thought had already occurred to him. But it was one he hadn't wanted to think about. "If that's the case, it'll certainly cause some hell for Murdock. But it's difficult to say what Stockwell would stand to gain out of all of it."

"Maybe he doesn't stand to gain anything. Maybe that's why he didn't want any of you going to Oklahoma."

Hannibal sighed. That didn't make any sense. Stockwell had orchestrated all of this, from the beginning. Whether or not he wanted them to know _why _he'd done it didn't change the fact that he'd done it.

"There's not much sense in getting worked up about it when it's just a guess. We'll know soon enough."

Nuzzling into his chest, she inhaled deeply, the exhaled her soft, warm, breath into his neck. "So have you briefed your team on this plan yet?"

"Not yet."

"Waiting for Murdock to come back?"

"No. You just beat them here."

She chuckled. "Well, I hope whatever you're planning pisses Stockwell off even more."

"Oh, it will."

His hand slid further up the inside of her thigh, under her skirt, feeling over her soft skin with a gentle caress.

"You know, it's ironic," he mused as he dropped his head to kiss the side of her neck softly.

"What is?" She tipped her head away, giving him better access.

"If he'd simply stick to his end of the deal and let us stick to ours, we'd probably all get along just fine."

She laughed quietly. "When you figure out how to get him to do that, you let me know. I've got a few issues I want to discuss with him, too."

The knock on the door this time was recognizable. BA. Hannibal set one more gentle kiss just behind her ear, then withdrew his hand from underneath her skirt before he answered. "Come in."

Suzanne rose to her feet as BA, Face, and Frankie all stepped into the room. "Well, I've got a pretty good idea where this is heading," Suzanne said. "And since I don't want to brief Stockwell on it, I'll be leaving now."

Hannibal smiled, and touched the side of her face lightly as she leaned down to give him a quick parting kiss. "This won't take long," he assured her.

"Oh, I'll be back," she answered.

He watched her go with a smile.

"Face said you got a plan," BA said as she shut the door behind her. "For what to do about Murdock's girlfriend."

"I do."

Frankie smiled, full of confidence. "This'll be good."

Hannibal reclined, holding his cigar between his teeth. "Stockwell had a reason for having her arrested and he knows, at this point, that we will try to get her out. The interesting part is, he hasn't done anything to try to stop us from going after her. Just like he didn't try to stop you from helping her out in San Antonio."

Frankie frowned, leaning back against the dresser with his arms loosely crossed. "Well we didn't exactly _tell _him we were going to San Antonio. He thought we were down in South America with you and BA."

"He knew," Hannibal answered with a smile. This part, he was sure he had figured out correctly. "And then he neatly spun that into the reason _why _he was so willing to burn Bev now, making the whole thing our fault. Neat trick huh?"

Face ignored him. "If he's using us to clean up her problems, why make more problems for us to clean up? Why bring her here in the first place? She was a long way from her problems in Hawaii."

"Why he brought her here is in Murdock's hands now. And judging by the way Stockwell reacted, I tend to think he'll get an answer. But it doesn't really make any difference. He's doing the same thing now that he did then - he's predicting our reactions. He's playing us."

BA sighed. He had no patience for this sort of thing. "What does that mean for the plan?"

"It means that I know what he's after. Regardless of what significance she holds - whatever Murdock comes back with - she's the bait. And any attempt we make to spring her is the trap. He knows we'll do it. He gave us a deadline to push us into doing it in his time or, maybe even better, to grovel for an extension on our deadline so we'll have more time to prepare."

They all stared at him. Frankie was the first to speak. "What kind of trap does Stockwell need to set? He's already got every man in here under lock and key."

"And," Face added, "I'd like to think that when he's ready to dispose of us, he'll do it with a little more style than having us go down on a jail break for some girl."

"Right. So this isn't his endgame move. He wants something from us, something that's not in our contract."

He was watching Face, waiting to see if the lieutenant would follow the bread crumbs and end up at the same gingerbread cottage. "Something," Hannibal continued, "that he feels belongs to him. Or worse, gives us too much of a chance of slipping off his leash for good."

"Oh, come on, Hannibal. You really think he gives a damn about the diamonds?"

Bingo. "I told you there would be retaliation for that."

"He's wanted her since long before the diamonds."

"Yes, but why did he choose now to have her arrested? Think about it, Face. You're a puffed up, paranoid, pocket-sized despot with severe control issues. And your greatest assets have just done something that defies your control. What do you do?"

"Tighten your fist." The response was immediate, without thought.

"How does encouraging them to break someone out of jail qualify as fist tightening?" Frankie asked.

"What do you think would happen if we got caught trying to execute a jail break?" Hannibal asked. "Considering our 'position' there's only one person we could really use that phone call for."

Face raised a hand to massage at his forehead as if he suddenly had a headache. "If he's setting up the whole damn thing, we _will _get caught if we try to help her. They'll be waiting for us before we ever make a move."

"I know. Stockwell is going to be watching the bait with every available set of eyes he has. Which is exactly why my plan is guaranteed to work."

Face couldn't help but roll his eyes. "You know, I really hate it when you get that look in your eyes and start laughing while saying words like 'plan.'"

Hannibal's smile only grew. "Oh, I know, Face. But trust me. You're gonna love this one."


	17. Chapter Fifteen

**CHAPTER FIFTEEN**

"Did she have any siblings?"

Marlaina sat back on the sofa, quietly flipping through the pencil sketches from Bev's childhood. "You mean biological?"

Murdock considered it briefly as he watched over her shoulder. "Actually, either way would -" He cut off as she turned too fast through one of the pages. "Wait a minute, go back."

Marlaina flipped back, then took her hands away from the page.

"What's the story on that one?" he asked, pointing to a sketch of a horribly disfigured face. Bev wasn't the greatest artist, but she had clearly used this picture to vent some very well pent-up emotion.

Marlaina studied it for a moment. "I don't know. But if I had to guess, probably her father."

Murdock raised a brow. "What about him?"

The look Marlaina returned was wary. "Well… I think she kind of kept it a secret. I don't know if she'd want you to know."

Murdock couldn't hold back the smile. Marlaina had devoted herself to guarding the legend of Bev. She had done a good job of it. And considering the girl's surroundings, he couldn't blame her for looking up to the only one who had managed to get the hell out of here.

"Please? Marlaina, who is he?" Murdock pointed at the picture again.

She hesitated for a long moment, then set the sketchbook in his lap and stood, crossing the few steps to the cabinet over the heating unit. "Jan was actually a love child. Nobody was supposed to know that and around here, nobody really does. It's not talked about."

Murdock flinched at that. Love child? People had always just called him the crazy lady's bastard kid.

"They tried to cover it up from the start, and say that Grandma Jones was actually her mom. But in a small town like the one she grew up in, it never works."

"Secrets like that never stay secrets in a small town," he agreed quietly.

Marlaina pulled a yellowed photo album out of the cabinet, and held it carefully on her way back to the sofa. "Once Jan got into school, it got so bad, they actually ended up having to move, which is why they came here."

"What happened to her... birth parents?" He didn't say real parents. Blood had very little to do with being a real parent.

Marlaina opened the album to a family photo. "That's Aunt Marge's mom, my grandma Silvia, Aunt Edna, and in the middle is Jan mother, Aunt Sherry. That's Aunt Edna's husband. He was a bastard, actually. I was glad when he died last year. He really hated Aunt Sherry. Talked bad about her all the time."

Murdock studied the photo of Beverly's mother. He could see something of a resemblance. Same nose, same high forehead.

"I never got a chance to really talk to Aunt Sherry. She died when I was just a kid. I don't really even remember her. But she was sort of a black sheep her whole life."

A small smile tugged at Murdock's lips. "I've always been fond of black sheep, myself."

Marlaina answered him with a tight smile. "I've only got one picture of her father. And it was _hard_ to get, too. I actually got it from Aunt Sherry before she died. Janny didn't want anything around to remind her she even _had_ a father. She really hated him."

She turned to the back of the book, the last yellowed page, and flipped it over for Murdock to see. "That's him."

West Point uniform. Smile. Familiar. Young, but still him. Murdock's eyes were wide as saucers as he took the photo album from her.

"Aunt Sherry never talked about him. Not really. Once I got through all the bullshit - and believe me, there was a lot of it. Nobody in my family can keep a lie straight - in the end all I really found out about him is that his name was John, he went to West Point, and he paid off Grandma and Grandpa Jones to keep them from naming him as the father because it would've fucked up his bright shining career. He walked out on her before Jan was born, and she says she never heard from him again. But I think she must have if she got the picture. I don't even know what his last name was, though. Which is probably a good thing because if I ever found him, I'd probably have to shoot him in the head for putting Janny and Aunt Sherry through all that. Not to mention, if he hadn't knocked her up, we never would've had to leave the farm in Kansas. Things probably would've been a whole lot different. And a whole lot _better_."

Murdock was hearing her words, but the seemed to be comimg from a far distance. Everything she said was on a time delay. Looking at the picture he closed his eyes and prayed like hell that when he opened them, he would see something other than what he saw. Those words made no sense. The man he knew wouldn't do that. He wouldn't run out and leave his child behind. Hell, he'd come halfway around the world just to bring Murdock back into "the family."

Mouth pressed in a grim line, he worked up the nerve to finally look at the photo again. Taking a deep breath he found himself once again looking at Hannibal.

"He must've been a local. I know Aunt Sherry never would've left the safety of her own back yard. But by the time Jan was old enough to really start asking questions - and figured out that her sister was really her mother - they'd already moved down here. Other people knew. She talks in her journal about being teased from the time she first went to kindergarten. She got to hear the rumors at school before anyone told her."

"Kids are cruel." Was that him talking? "They will say in public what adults only say behind closed doors."

"You got that right."

Bev was Hannibal's daughter. Jesus God, what in the hell was he supposed to do with that? Running his hand over his face, he pushed his hat back. He had to get it together. He couldn't afford to let the panic he was feeling seep out. This was so much bigger, and worse, than he had imagined. Murdock had thought he would come down, find the connection to Stockwell and cut it. But he couldn't cut a blood tie.

Stockwell...

The whirling thoughts in Murdock's mind latched onto that name. How long had the son of a bitch known this? The thought was infuriating. Stockwell played on family drama and childhood pain and twisted it all around, without a care in the world for who he hurt. First Face's father, and now this. What the hell did he have to gain with these manipulative games? Maybe more importantly, Murdock needed to know what was the quickest and easiest way to put a stop to them. With the cold fury settling in his chest, Murdock knew full well that he'd stop it with a bullet if it came to that.

*X*X*X*

Stockwell was not normally difficult to find. He practically lived in that jet that stayed parked in the airfield close to his condo. Murdock knew exactly how to get an audience with him.

He didn't really care to be announced. But it was either that or go _through _the men who guarded the entrance to the jet. Ultimately, he probably would've done that if they hadn't let him pass. But they did. And Stockwell was waiting for him, seated at the desk he had bolted to the floor.

As Murdock entered and the Abels left, Stockwell sat watching him with that blank expression of calm non-disclosure. "What can I do for you, Captain?"

Murdock was pissed. And right now, Stockwell was in his line of fire. He entered with as sure a step as he could manage given his injury, not pausing to answer him until he was at the side of Stockwell's desk, past the Plexiglas barrier he knew could slide down. The barrier with the bullet hole he had put in it.

"Tell me a story, jackass," Murdock growled. "And then tell me what you know about Hannibal's daughter."

Stockwell studied him for a long moment, then sat forward, steepling his hands and touching them to his lips. "Beverly Richards, as she is known now, is the illegitimate daughter of John Smith and Sherry Jones, age 18 and 15 respectively at the time of her birth. She never knew her father, but he knew about her. He never returned after going to West Point. His parents paid herparents a handsome price to keep the whole thing under wraps."

For just a second the anger flared and his mind played like a movie all the ways he could kill Stockwell. And why shouldn't he? The team would be safe - no more suicide missions. No more fucking with the lives of people he loved.

"Is there anything else I can help you with, Captain?" Stockwell asked casually. "Or has your curiosity finally been satisfied?"

Murdock's jaw tightened. "What's wrong? You got a busy day of diabolical plotting ahead of you?"

Stockwell eyed him with calm amusement, betraying nothing more of what he was thinking or feeling. After a brief pause, he smirked. "Actually, all of my plotting has been neatly accomplished for the time being."

From somewhere deep inside, Murdock felt the darkness stirring. "You know, it must be tough trying to keep up with that ever-increasing paranoia. They got some good shrinks at the VA. You really should think about seeing one."

Stockwell watched him with a smile that he looked like he was trying to contain, but wasn't quite able to. "Your recommendations for my psychiatric care will be duly noted. After all, you would know about the quality of treatment at the VA."

The smile held, but his eyes turned wild and dark, strangely at odds with the almost-pleasant tone he was speaking in. "Someday, when you lie on the ground sucking in those last dying gasp of air, before your black pit of a soul shuffles off the mortal coil, you're gonna look back and think, 'Where did I go wrong? How could I have come to such a messy end?' And then you're gonna realize your fatal mistake was in fucking with me and mine. Because mark my words, I will be the one to pull that trigger when it's time."

Stockwell nodded calmly. "I will keep it in mind."

Murdock turned and limped his way towards the door, not turning back to look at him. "See you around, asshole."

*X*X*X*

"I don't have a daughter."

The frank shock was not adequately captured in Hannibal's tone. His mind was immediately racing. Elaine, her son. Too young, not his, but the rumor would exist. In any case, _not _a daughter.

"Sherry Jones," Murdock said quietly. "Sherry Jones had a little girl."

Hannibal stopped processing any semblance of thought at the first words out of Murdock's mouth, his mind flashing white with a thousand thoughts at once. "Sherry Jones had a son," he said low.

"Stockwell said your parents paid off her parents. He says you knew but… I guess they never told you. They tried to pass the baby off as their own. But that never works in a small town. Somehow Stockwell -"

"Stop!"

Murdock fell silent. With one hand over his eyes, the other still raised and holding the file, Hannibal turned his head away, took a moment to pull the racing thoughts under control. Finally, he looked back up.

"Hannibal, I'm sorry," Murdock said quietly. "I'm sorry you had to find out like this."

"Beverly's life on paper doesn't tie her back to me," Hannibal said. "Even if it was true - and I do mean _if_ - there's no way he could know it."

Murdock lowered his head. "Hannibal..."

"He set it up. Except he didn't realize that Sherry Jones had a boy. He wants us to believe this, so why would he -"

"I saw pictures, Hannibal," Murdock interrupted quietly. Hannibal stared at him as he reluctantly raised his eyes. "In a photo album that her cousin keeps. She has a picture of you in your West Point uniform."

Hannibal stared at him. "How could he set that up?"

"He didn't set it up, Hannibal." Murdock paused for a long moment, letting that set in. "She really is your daughter."

Hannibal felt his jaw tightening. There was a part of him that wanted to ask how the hell Stockwell could've even heard the name of Sherry Jones, but he had a feeling he already knew the answer to that. The anger was beginning to simmer inside of him. He kept it suppressed, under layers of well-learned control and professionalism. "I do not have a daughter."

Murdock sighed. "I found her family, Hannibal. I talked to them, I _saw _the photos with my own eyes. It's not just a setup or a trick of Stockwell's. It's real."

Murdock was looking at him with a mix of emotions in his eyes. Stockwell might have a reason to lie, but why would Murdock? Hannibal took a long moment to register the shock, to process it. The memories came and passed. What pieces could fall into place did, and the others he held in his hands, a jumbled mess that made no sense.

"She told me it was a boy," he said flatly. "She sent a picture, my first year at West Point. I had no reason to believe otherwise."

Murdock's eyes widened slightly. "You knew?"

"I knew she had a child. It didn't even occur to me that Beverly could be that child. Or, for that matter, that Stockwell might know anything about it."

How _did _Stockwell know? Even if he knew about Sherry, how did he know about the rest of it? That child had no connection to him whatsoever - at least, not on paper. Why go to such lengths to turn up information on Hannibal's past?

"You didn't know enough about your own child to recognize her?"

Murdock was staring at him, his eyes dark and unreadable. Putting aside his own surprise and racing thoughts, he watched him for a moment. "No, I didn't recognize her. Apparently, I was confused as to her gender. That makes recognition a bit more difficult."

Murdock's eyes stayed locked on his. "So does abandoning them."

Hannibal blinked in surprise, caught off guard by the sudden hostility. He'd felt it, subconsciously, but it didn't really hit him until he heard the tone in Murdock's voice. His eyes narrowed slightly as he eyed him, not entirely sure what to expect.

"Is there something you need to say to me, Captain?"

"Yeah, I do." Murdock stepped closer. "Do you have any idea the kind of hell you put her through? Do you have any idea at all what it's like growing up the town bastard? Do you even give a damn about her?"

"This is _not _about you, Murdock." The connection he was making with her was obvious. Hannibal knew enough about Murdock's past to know he would feel more empathy for her situation than he would even know what to do with. But that was dangerous territory. If he convinced himself that Hannibal's feelings towards Beverly were a reflection of his feelings towards _him_...

"I never said it was about me," Murdock said firmly. "I thought I made it very clear, it was about a child you abandoned."

Hannibal studied him quietly for a long moment. When he finally spoke, it was slow, even, and unthreatening. He measured his words very carefully, well aware of the effect that one misplaced phrase could have on this particular area of hurt left over from Murdock's past.

"She means a lot to you," Hannibal said quietly. "And for that, I do care a great deal. But it's been a very long time since I spoke to Sherry Jones. And I never even met her child."

"But you knew about her. Your parents paid her parents off."

"Of their own accord. I never asked them to do that. If I'd had a say in the matter, they wouldn't have."

"So why did you never go back?"

"To Kansas?" Hannibal repeated it just to emphasize how it sounded. "Why didn't you ever go back to Odessa after the Academy?"

"Because there was nothing there for me in Odessa. No friends, no family, and _certainly _no child."

His anger was mounting. Hannibal could see it like a shadow coming over him.

"What would you have had me do, Murdock? Take her and her child with me to Korea? To Vietnam?"

"A lot of families are broken up by war. If that was what had happened, we wouldn't be having this discussion. But it's not what happened. You knew she was born and you didn't even know she was _female_. And now you're going to stand there and tell me that the only reason you give a damn at all is because she means a lot to _me_?"

"Have you talked to Stockwell about this?"

The change in topic was so abrupt, Murdock absorbed it like a blow. Shock, confusion, then regrouping. Finally, the challenge and anger in his eyes seemed to recede. But nothing replaced it. At least, nothing that Hannibal could identify. He was so slow in answering, Hannibal was about to repeat the question, when the answer came.

"Yes."

Damn it. That changed the pieces on the chess board. Not that it was anything Stockwell hadn't known. But now that he knew the cat was out of the bag, Hannibal couldn't feign ignorance in any capacity.

"Fine. I'll deal with that. If he set this all up, he'll be _waiting_ for me to react. And we'll deal with your girlfriend's problem. But right now," he turned towards the door, his eyes narrowing as the anger simmered up inside of him again, "I need to deal with where he got his information."


	18. Chapter Sixteen

**CHAPTER SIXTEEN**

Hannibal took two steps into the room, found Suzanne talking to Face, and without any thought for the etiquette of interrupting their conversation, pointed directly at her. "You! Pool house. Now!"

Even Face flinched at the tone, his eyes widening slightly. He lowered his head a fraction as he took a step back, giving her a clear path to the back door. She hesitated a long moment before she started, and Hannibal followed a step behind her, his pace anything but casual. Nobody followed them outside, but the eyes of the Abels tracked them along the path to the front door of the pool house. Once inside, he slammed the door shut and locked it.

"Did you talk to Stockwell about Sherry Jones?" he demanded.

"What?" She stood staring at him, shocked.

"We talked about her," he said low. "One of the first conversations we had when you came here. That girl I knew before I went to West Point. Did you tell Stockwell about her?"

Her eyes widened, caught off guard by the accusation seemingly out of nowhere. "No! Why would I tell -"

Hannibal's palm hit the wall behind her, his eyes dead cold as he leaned in closer. His tone was enough to send a shiver down her spine as he growled at her, "_Don't_ lie to me."

She didn't move, didn't turn her head away or lower her eyes. But it took tremendous effort. He was trying to intimidate her, and it was working.

"I'm _not_ lying," she said low, glaring back at him.

He stared at her, steadily, not flinching. There was nothing in his eyes; they were black and cold. "There is nothing, anywhere, to suggest any connection between me and Sherry's child. I know that for a _fact_. I've talked about her once, in forty years, and now Stockwell knows about her. I'm not stupid, Suzanne. How did he find out?"

"I never talked to _anyone_ about that," she said firmly.

"Then how did he find out?" Hannibal demanded, enunciating every word carefully. "Because I don't talk about things like that if I don't _know _that the room I'm talking in is clean. So that leaves only one potential source of information, Suzanne."

He pushed off the wall, backing off a step, but he was still glaring at her. She stayed where she was, not moving.

"I _didn't _tell him. I didn't tell anyone. Why the hell would I tell Stockwell about that?"  
"Probably because it was something he really would've wanted to know. Just what _do _you put in those reports you give to him?"

The indignant anger at the accusation was so sudden and so intense, she couldn't control it. Her hand was up, palm open across his face with a resounding crack. Instantly, he had a hold of her wrist. Grabbing both hands, he shoved her back to the wall, pinning her hard. There was fire in his eyes, and she glared back. Any fear she felt - fear she knew she was wise to feel - was hidden beneath the anger.

"How dare you," she hissed.

He held her, his grip tight enough to hurt, eyes locked on hers. "How does he know, Suzanne?"

"What we talk about alone stays between us. The only information I've ever given him were generic, or things that I told you I was going to tell him. When you told me about her, I ran a computer check on her to find out if he had anything on her, or if she was still alive. He had nothing. If he had, I would've told you."

"And whose computer did you use to run that check?" Hannibal growled.

Suddenly, the realization hit her. She'd used Stockwell's computer. "I shut the computer off when I was done," she said. She could hear the way the certainty wavered in her voice. Was she really responsible for this? "There's no way he should have been able to find out what I was checking."

"Well, apparently, he did." Hannibal let go of her wrists, still glaring at her intensely, and took a step back. "And then he found out that she had a child. Do you want to take a guess as to why I'm finding this out now?"

Suzanne's stomach was sinking. "Beverly."

"That's right, Suzanne. Beverly. And everything Stockwell's put her through, interfering in her life and trying to use her as a pawn in his little power struggle with us? _That's _on you."

Hannibal turned and walked to the door, pulling it open sharply. He braced at the cold blast of air but never took his eyes off of her. She said nothing. She had nothing to say.

"I hope to God it was worth it, Suzanne. Because you sure did cause her a hell of a lot of grief."

Without another word, he stepped out the door, slamming it behind him so hard, the windows of the pool house shook. Breathless with the guilt that his words brought down on her, she stood still as the silence settled around her, feeling the tears stinging in her eyes.

*X*X*X*

Ever since he could remember, Murdock had loved watching the sky. He'd daydreamed about flying from the time he was old enough to conceive of the idea. As an adult, that hadn't changed, except that now he had memories as well. For a while, he'd flown the fastest thing on the planet. He still could, technically, just not legally. But legalities wouldn't stop him if ever he had the opportunity again.

He spent a good bit of time here, at the Potomac airfield. It was small, but given the number of military and federal employees flying in and out at all hours, there was always something to watch. He needed something to watch, something distracting, something he could get lost in. He wasn't even sure why it had hurt so much to hear those words, to see that cold look in Hannibal's eyes. But suddenly, every truth he knew about Hannibal was no longer absolute. He'd walked away willingly? Abandoned a child? Murdock never would have thought that possible. There was suddenly no line between past and present, or between the little girl in Oakhurst and the neglected boy in Texas.

He shut his eyes and listened to the sound of the plane overhead. He had no idea how he had ended up here, or how long he had been here. Everything had been a confused jumble of images, thoughts, memories. He was sitting at the edge of field scrub pines, back up against a tree, eyes fixed on the runway that ended several hundred yards ahead of him, watching a Piper Cub come in for a landing. He was unnaturally still, eyes on the night sky and the small planes, but mind far away…

All the way back to the fifties, back to when he was a scrawny little kid, tormented by a brother who hated him a dad who spent most of his time neck deep in a bottle of cheap whiskey. Back to the lovely town folk who reveled in making fun of the "crazy lady's bastard kid." When Murdock was seven, he'd found out what that last one meant. It had been the happiest day of his life at the time.

It was the day he'd realized that drunk man who smelled like sweat and couldn't be bothered with him or Alan, wasn't really his father. It was the day he started dreaming about what it was going to be like when his real dad showed up. Someday, he would show up because somebody out there who wanted him. Someone would come back for him and show him what life was like with people who cared if he was breathing or not. He was well into his teens before he figured out his real dad was never coming for him. That Alan had been right all along. He was nothing and nobody; not even his own parents wanted anything to do with a "fucking crazy pansy" like him.

It was Hannibal who had changed that…

Murdock saw the headlights. They were the same headlights that had driven by twenty minutes earlier. This time they stopped, and the shadow that emerged from the car approached with a casual walk that told him, long before he could see in the dark, who it was. Face wasn't trying to hide. He approached quietly, and sat down next to Murdock, placing a small cooler between them. Opening it up, he grabbed a beer and held it out in Murdock's direction without a word. Murdock took it without making eye contact.

Neither of them spoke. Murdock didn't know what to say. He had a persona and voice for every occasion - or a song or rhyme in a pinch. But this was something new. How in the world had he gotten himself into this? He took a sip of the cold beer, wondering how much Face knew. Did he know about Bev? Chances were pretty good that he did. Otherwise, he probably wouldn't be here.

"You've had a hell of a day," Face finally said, leaning back against the tree with his eyes shut.

Murdock looked at briefly at him. So calm and casual. If Murdock didn't know better he might believe that Face was relaxed. How much did he know? How did he find out? Really, it probably didn't matter.

"Past few days, I'd say," Murdock said. "How did you know where to find me?"

Face chuckled at that. "It wasn't hard."

Murdock was quiet. After a long moment, Face glanced at him.

"You okay?"

Murdock nodded.

Face turned back to the airfield, content to sit in silence as another plane came in for a landing. The silence stretched for several full minutes before Murdock finally spoke. "Hannibal talk to you?"

"Yes."

And that was it. More silence. Murdock closed his eyes, breathing deep, remaining calm. His mind wandered, then returned back to the starting point. With a sigh, he opened his eyes again and stared up at the sky.

"Has he said anything about what he plans to do?" Murdock asked. "To get her out of there?"

"He had a plan." Face lay back, arms folded under his head, knees bent, staring at the sky. "It involved a considerable amount of waiting. I don't know how - or if - it's changed."

"Waiting? For what?"

"For Stockwell to get the impression that we don't care."

Murdock stared at him, confused.

Face sighed. "Stockwell's known from the beginning who she was. He chose not to tell us. It was a high card, and he could've used it before now, but he didn't."

"Used it for what?"

"That's the question." Face paused and took a drink from his bottle. "Hannibal thinks he's trying to extend our contracts."

"How?"

"He's setting us up. He knows we'll help her just because of who she is to you. Hell, we _proved _that, with San Antonio. But getting her out of prison, that's something he can't condone and certainly can't help with. In fact, if we tried it, he'd be legally and morally obligated to throw us in prison as well."

Murdock shut his eyes as those words hit home.

"We've been here a year now. Thirty-three missions."

"Jesus, is that all?"

"Yep." Face sat up again. "If he's feeling threatened by the missing diamonds - which he very well may be - then he may be thinking a third of the way through is a good time to renew those contracts."

"If that's what he wants, why doesn't he just offer to strike a deal?"

"It's probably a matter of initiative. He doesn't want to offersomething like that. He wants us to beg him for it. Wants us to need it. And at that point, it doesn't necessarily guarantee _her _freedom."

Murdock leaned forward, holding his head in his hand. A year of working for Stockwell had given Hannibal a pretty keen intuition as to what Stockwell was thinking and planning. It was no surprise that Stockwell pulled this shit, and no surprise, at this point, that Hannibal could see it. He'd gotten to know the enemy quite well in a year's time.

"So what do we do?" Murdock asked quietly.

"Well, originally, we'd give it some time. It'll take them a few months to scramble a trial together. It's not _pleasant _in prison, but it's not like she's in any real danger."

"Call his bluff?" Murdock asked, shocked. "That's Hannibal's great plan?"

"Not all of it. But the really important part that we don't have a chance in hell of succeeding at now."

"Why?"

"There's no way Stockwell will buy that he's going to turn his back on his daughter."

"Why not? He already did it once."

Face studied Murdock for a long moment. "You okay?"

Murdock took a deep breath. "How? I just... I mean... How?"

"How what?"

He was granted a little reprieve when a little Gulf Stream came racing down the runway. Murdock took a drink, then held his head one with his hand as he twisted to watch the plane break the bonds of gravity and soar off into the sky. When the noise finally died out, Murdock spoke looking off into the distance.

"He didn't care. If Stockwell thinks he won't turn his back, he needs to rethink that. Hannibal doesn't give a damn about what happens to her. Never did."

Face hesitated a moment. "I don't think you have enough facts to make that kind of a sweeping statement, Murdock."

"You know, one of the first things she told me was about her father," Murdock continued. The sudden sadness that came over him made him pause and look away. "That he used to give her army guys to play with. And it makes sense now, you know? Because the only thing she knew about him was that he went to West Point."

With a shake of his head, he stopped himself. He wasn't even sure who he was more angry at right now: Hannibal or his own father. Why the fuck did it still hurt, forty years later?

"I'm not saying he was right, Murdock," Face said quietly. "But I'm in no position to say it's wrong, either. Because even if I'd known that Jessica was pregnant in Vietnam, it wouldn't have changed a damn thing."

Murdock opened the cooler and replaced his empty beer with a fresh one. "I get it Face," he sighed. "The past is done. We can't change it and dwelling on it is pointless. I get that. It's just... I thought I knew what Hannibal would do. He's... He's Hannibal. Never leave a man behind, and all that. Except his left his own kid. And he never looked back."

Face was quiet for a long moment. Then finally, he finished his beer and reached into the cooler for another one. "Are you going to tell her?"

"I don't know," Murdock admitted. He forced a smile. "It's almost like deja vu, you know? Except this time, it's not so cut and dry."

"What do you mean?"

"When AJ Bancroft told me not to tell you who he was, I gave him twenty-four hours to do it himself. I don't know if I can put that kind of an ultimatum to Hannibal. Besides, I knew you'd want to know. I don't know if she would."

Face was quiet for a long moment, sipping his beer. "It's a judgment call, Murdock. One way or another you risk hurting somebody."

"Yeah, I know."

Face hesitated again. "But I wouldn't talk to her before you talk to Hannibal."

Murdock took a long drink. "I wouldn't. I'm not confused about my loyalties. I just don't know what either one of them _wants_ right now."

He paused for a long moment, and looked up at Face again. "But one thing's for damn sure. If Hannibal really doesn't care, Stockwell's holding the high card.


	19. Chapter Seventeen

**CHAPTER SEVENTEEN**

Hannibal had left the pool house several hours ago and disappeared. It wouldn't have been a big deal if he hadn't left on foot, and sent the two Abels who were following him back with bloody lips. Hannibal could hold his own, but he rarely settled things with his fists. And Stockwell's goons weren't hard to "talk" to.

He'd come back after dinner, late in the evening, but didn't come into the house. BA only knew he was in the pool house because he'd been watching for him to come back. Not he was watching for him to come inside. Hannibal never slept out in the pool house, except once in a great while when he stayed out there with Suzy. But Hannibal wasn't coming inside, and minutes were turning into hours.

Quietly, and with skill and speed born of practice, BA disabled the alarm on his bedroom window and slipped out into the darkness, deftly avoiding the cameras that remained operational. He'd had decided earlier in the day to help Hannibal seek some solitude by systematically and creatively disabling each one. It made getting to the pool house unnoticed much easier.

Of course, he could have just walked over. But if Hannibal had gone to the pool house seeking a place to be alone, BA didn't want to draw unneeded attention to it. Pressing into the shadows, he knocked softly on the door. The knock alone was enough to identify him - one tap, pause two taps, pause one tap. It was the code they had used for years.

Hannibal was not quick in answering the door. But he did answer it. He pulled it open, without any effort to keep BA outside. If he hadn't wanted to be alone, he wouldn't be out here. But if he hadn't been at least okay with the fact the he had company, he would've simply stood in the door and asked what BA wanted. Instead he let him in, and closed the door behind him, locking it again.

"What can I do for you, BA?"

He was still mad. That much was obvious. But BA wasn't here to mince words. "Hey, what's the matter with you, man?"

"What do you meant?"

"You hit Stockwell's guards. It ain't like you to hit people."

"They were warned."

Hannibal walked to the coffee table, poured another glass of expensive whiskey, and sat down on the easy chair across from the sofa BA was standing behind. He didn't say anything else, but he wasn't telling BA to get out, either. Hannibal knew how to tell him to get out if he wanted to.

"What happened with Murdock?" BA asked. "And how's it change the plan?"

Hannibal studied him for a long moment, sipped his whiskey again, and reclined slightly. "Beverly Richards is the daughter of a girl I knew before West Point."

BA stared. It only took him a few seconds to put the pieces together. There was only one reason for Stockwell to have any interest in bringing her here. BA felt a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. "Aw, Hannibal."

"I got to thinking about it," Hannibal continued, "and I really don't think he wanted us to find out. I think that was the original plan, but he changed it when he saw that Murdock's reaction alone was enough to get us to move on her. There was no need to show his hand at that point. He could've held onto her a while longer, used it again, sometime in the future."

There was so much wrong with that statement, so many questions that it led to, it was hard to even find a place to start. It was twisted and wrong on so many levels and just the sort of thing Stockwell would do. Luckily, BA had no interest in figuring out what Stockwell was thinking and planning. All he wanted to know was one thing.

"So what do we do now?"

Hannibal set his cigar in the ashtray, turning it to break off the ashes. "This does change a few things. I need to see how he intends to play this now."

"What do you mean?"

"He'd intended to _get _something with this information. Now that it's out in the open, he may go ahead and make his move."

"What move?"

"I still think he's going to try and barter for Beverly's freedom."

BA had known that, but he didn't want to hear it. Pushing down any reaction he felt, he crossed his arms over his chest. "So what're you gonna do?"

"Find out what his terms are, for one."

"You actually thinkin' about makin' a deal with him?" BA asked, worried.

"That depends on what his terms are, what he's offering. If he burns us trying to get her out of there, it will just put us in a worse position to start negotiations."

BA shivered at the thought. Right now, Hannibal's plan was the only thing they had. And he knew he'd be on board no matter how risky it as. But they had pulled off worse.

"What's Murdock think?"

Murdock had been wound up and fighting to keep control when he left. BA had seen that, too. He was just as worried about him as Hannibal.

"He's not taking it well," Hannibal answered. "Can't say I would've expected him to. Stockwell played him."

"Don't see why. Murdock's come with us every time just 'cause he wants to."

"That may be the problem."

BA's frown deepened, and he hesitated for a long moment before he spoke again. "So when you gonna go talk to Stockwell?"

"Not yet." Distant and lost in his thoughts, Hannibal's tone was distracted as he tapped his fingers against his knee. "We need to let this settle for a day or two. I'm concerned that if Stockwell doesn't think he can get his way, he wouldn't hesitate to burn the whole damn operation to the ground. And take us with it."

*X*X*X*

"Lieutenant Peck just dropped off Murdock at his apartment."

Stockwell glanced up, and nodded. "Good."

Carla hesitated to continue, but he could tell there was something on her mind. He finished with the report he was reading before he leaned back in his chair, folding his hands loosely in front of him. He didn't prod her, just waited patiently. The silence alone was permission to speak. Still, she hesitated for a long moment before speaking.

"Colonel Smith's reaction seems less than favorable."

"No more than I expected."

Carla raised a brow. "I would've thought we were hoping for a bit more of a... show of loyalty."

"It will come. He has a lot to think about right now, and I don't imagine Captain Murdock has made that any easier."

"I should say not. It seems his reaction on both counts - to the arrest and this new information - has been substantially stronger than Smith's."

"That's alright. It will be an influence on Smith when he chooses to make his reaction known to me."

"And you intend to wait until he does so?"

Stockwell smiled. "I am in no rush. Captain Murdock - and, in turn, Colonel Smith - are the ones who will be anxious to make this go quickly from this point on."

*X*X*X*

Suzanne's phone rang at two in the morning. She shouldn't have even been awake to hear it. But somehow Hannibal wasn't surprised when she picked it up after only two rings.

"I want to see you," he informed her, as non-threatening as he could manage.

She took in a deep, audible breath. "Where and when?"

"Here. It'll take you fifteen minutes if you leave now."

His tone held no emotion, but it wasn't that cold, dead tone, either. Not the one he'd used with her last time they'd talked - the one that betrayed how angry he was in the simple fact that it was so flat. But there was no mistaking his words now for anything other than an order. And she reacted with the expected compliance.

"I'll be there."

He hung up without saying good-bye, and poured another glass of scotch. He wasn't nearly drunk, in spite of all the alcohol he'd consumed today. But he really should slow down, if for no other reason then because it wasn't healthy.

He mixed this glass with water, and returned to his bedroom. He drank it slowly, savoring the taste, finishing the last of his cigar before he finally lay down on his back on the bed, his arm tucked under his head, staring up at the ceiling as he let his mind wander. It wasn't long before he heard her knock.

"Come in."

She had probably wanted stride into the room, stare him down, show him that his anger at her didn't matter, that she was strong and above this. That was, after all, the Suzanne he knew. But her confidence was shaken, whether by the fact that he'd shown her anger - something he'd not done in a very long time - or, more likely, the fact that she was actually in the wrong.

She slid into the room, just far enough to shut the door. Tense and unsure, she had no idea what to do, why he had even calling her here. She stood like a mouse waiting for the snake to strike as he watched her. He sighed. Finally, when he spoke, he kept his voice low and soft, almost soothing.

"Come here."

Not moving or shifting position, he reached his hand out across the bed, towards her, palm up. She stared at it or a long moment, then finally stepped closer, reaching out hesitantly as if she half expected him to pull his hand back before she could touch him. He didn't. He closed his hand around hers gently and pulled her down onto the bed beside him. Without words, he guided her to the position he wanted her: lying beside him with her head on his shoulder and his arm wrapped protectively around her. There, he held her still, waiting patiently for her to relax.

It took several long minutes. She didn't say a word, but the deep, cleansing breath she pulled in made her shudder. As she turned her head, burying it in his shoulder, he could feel the hot tears.

"I'm sorry, John."

He sighed softly, and turned his head to kiss her forehead. Letting his lips remain there, he spoke in a soft whisper. "I know."

She put an arm across his chest and pulled in closer to him, hiding her face against his neck. He sighed as he breathed deep, and let it out slow, raking his fingers through her hair. He let the stillness stretch, let her cry and let her pull herself together. In the soft silence that followed, he finally spoke in a whisper.

"Sometimes I wish we'd never made that deal with him, you know. Never let him put us in this position. Where every little thing we do, every secret we have, it all ends up subject to his games. Because damn, Suzy, that man will use _any_ little thing if he thinks it'll give him an edge over the people who willingly came to work for him in the first place. I don't understand it."

"He needs you," she whispered. "And your team. He has plans; he always does. Judging by how hard he's trying to keep you under control, you and your team play a big part in those plans."

His hand moved from her hair back to her shoulder, stroking her firmly with his palm. "It's definitely the fastest way for him to get best results at the least potential cost. I'll give him that. He's one hell of a strategist."

There was nothing to say to that, and she didn't try. Stockwell was cutthroat and cold, and he held his pawns firmly in his power.

Hannibal sighed softly, resigned. "I honestly don't know why you - why _anyone_ - would work for him willingly. I understand job security. But there comes a point when you have to start questioning if it's really worth it."

"He destroyed my career with the Agency." She moved her head a little and looked him in the eye. "He wanted me here. And he wanted to make sure he was my best - my only - option."

"I suppose that's my fault."

She smiled faintly. "Maybe. But I don't regret it."

He tucked her hair behind her ear, then slid his hand back to guide her down into a slow, gentle kiss. He moved his other arm around her waist as he felt her slowly relax into him. Pulling the blankets down with one hand, he used the other to pull her in closer until he could feel the warmth of her body next to him. Her need was evident, and it made him smile as he slowly, gently, rolled her onto her back.

She gave a broader, more confident smile up at him as she settled. "Besides, now it's job security. He wouldn't let me go when he thinks he can use me to keep you around."

He smiled back. But it was quieter, and more serious than the look she wore. He recognized the truth in her words, even where she'd meant them as a jest.

"Maybe he's right."

*X*X*X*

The warm sun on Suzanne's face almost made her forget that winter was fast approaching. Nuzzling into the pillow, she could smell Hannibal's scent, and an involuntary smile crept across her face as she reached for him. But the bed beside her was empty. Slowly, she opened her eyes and blinked a few times at the bright light before she was able to focus them. He was up and moving, and already half dressed. And from the pace and fluidity of his movements, he was moving with definite purpose.

"Where are you going?"

He turned and glanced at her as he shrugged his shirt onto his shoulders. "I'm going to have a little chat with Stockwell."

Suzanne pulled herself up into a sitting position, watching him. He was in his 'action' mode. She could tell that by the way he moved, and how energy seemed to spark from him. Even from across the room, she could feel it - that command presence he had. It was something she loved about him, and she loved to watch him move when he was in that mode. But the fact that he was going to Stockwell had a sobering effect on her thoughts.

"What are you going to do?" Her words were soft and there was worry in them that she could quite keep at bay.

"Find out what he wants." He glanced at her as he buttoned his shirt. "He showed his hand - like it or not - and I'm not impressed. If he thinks it gives him anything on me that he didn't have before, he's got another thing coming."

He was angry, and at the same time, perfectly controlled. She smiled. She'd never seen anybody do that quite like Hannibal.

"That's not really the truth though," she said quietly. "If he's got your daughter, he does have something."

"And the only way we're going to be able to help her is if he doesn't know that." He fixed his collar, and his sleeves, and grabbed his shoes from where they were waiting near the door. Without looking at her, he sat down to pull them on. "I knew his game from the start. And if he manages to throw in a few surprises, assuming from the start that he's capable of anything means that he hasn't quite managed to shock me yet."

"He's managed to shock the hell out of me," she said dryly.

Finished with his shoes, he stood, and turned back to look at her. Even though he wasn't smiling, he had that look in his eye. That light that warned of impending mischief and stark determination. Nothing stopped Hannibal. No one ever stood in his way. And if anyone tried, he was happy to play chicken.

"Don't worry," he reassured her. "I'm just getting warmed up. He has yet to hear my response to his little proclamation of authority."

She smiled at him. She couldn't help it. She had spent enough time on the receiving end of that look to know mayhem and chaos was in store for anyone he aimed his sights on. Tossing the covers aside she slid out of bed. She was naked, and she couldn't care less. Striding over to him, she pressed herself against him, putting her hands on his shoulders, grinning up at him.

"Give 'em hell, Hannibal."

God knows if anyone could, it was him.

He smiled back, and took a moment to kiss her, pulling her tight against him, before he turned and walked out of the room with a determined stride.


	20. Chapter Eighteen

**CHAPTER EIGHTEEN**

Neither Hannibal nor Murdock argued with the men who frisked them. Neither one of them had brought a weapon; there was really no point. Unless they'd intended to go down shooting and take out as many of the Abels as they could beforehand, now was simply not the time to shoot Stockwell. That time would come, but it was not today.

Murdock was all but numb as he followed a step behind Hannibal, hobbling up the steps to the jet and back to Stockwell's office with the blue walls. Thirty minutes ago, he'd been asleep, and Hannibal hadn't exactly provided the best conversation on the way over. In fact, all he'd said since Murdock had opened the door for him was to ask if he wanted to accompany him to hash things out with Stockwell. After all, it was his girlfriend who was in jeopardy.

And it was entirely too early to argue logistics.

Stockwell looked up as they entered, but didn't offer that traditional, patronizing smile in greeting. Instead, his expression was blank. "Gentlemen, what can I do for you?"

"You've had your fun," Hannibal said flatly. "Now it's time to talk business."

His eyes shifted to the men who'd escorted them in. He was waiting for them to be dismissed. After a moment's pause, Stockwell waved them away and they disappeared. "Glad to see you seem to be feeling better," he offered, nodding to Murdock's leg.

Murdock had no interest in answering that.

"You went through a lot of trouble to drag up information on my high school girlfriend," Hannibal continued. "And even more trouble to bring her daughter here. And if I didn't know better, I'd say you're the one somehow responsible for that woman's current situation. You set this all up, nice and neat. So what the hell is it you want?"

Stockwell closed the file in front of him. "I believe we have already had this discussion Colonel. Whether or not Beverly Richards stays in jail means nothing to me."

"That isn't what I asked."

Stockwell smiled. "I want many things, Colonel, so I'm afraid you'll have to be more specific in your request for information."

Hannibal took a step forward, leaning forward on the desk with a glare. "I'm not _requesting_ anything."

"I see. Well, in that case, you're wasting my time."

He looked back down at his files, pulling the next one off the stack. Hannibal continued before he'd opened it.

"You wouldn't have gone through all this trouble if I didn't have something _you_ wanted. So either tell me what it is or lose the opportunity. Because you're standing on my last nerve, Stockwell. And if I have to handle this situation my way, you can bet your ass I'll do it. And when I'm through, you can take your pardons straight to hell with you."

"What do you want to make the charges against Beverly go away?" Murdock asked, point blank.

Stockwell glanced at Murdock, his face an impassive mask. But he had gotten what he was looking for. They were waiting to hear the opening bid.

"If you want me to intercede on her behalf, I will need two things." He folded his hands on the desk in front of him. "First, you will bring those diamonds to me."

Hannibal said nothing. Murdock waited and watched. The diamonds were nothing. That wouldn't be all. He was sure of it.

"And," Stockwell continued, locking eyes with Hannibal, "you and your men will agree to complete an addition thirty missions under my command."

Hannibal laughed mockingly as he stood up straight. "The hell we will."

"Then she stays where she is." He smiled as he leaned back. "Go ahead and try to do things your way, Colonel. It could be an amusing exercise for both of us."

Hannibal leaned forward on the desk again, his eyes locked on his opponent. "You know, Stockwell, I've had just about enough of this song and dance. Do you really think you could keep any one of us here if we weren't perfectly willing to stay? And do you really think you could do it by threatening some woman I don't even know?"

Stockwell's eyes narrowed, his jaw tightening in an expression that could only be anger. It seemed out of place on him. How rarely did this man actually let anger show? Murdock had to admit, he'd never seen it. At least, not like this.

"You overestimated my sentimentality, Stockwell," Hannibal growled. "Beverly Richards can swing for all I care. And if you pull any more of this blackmail bullshit again, I will make sure you swing _with _her."

Stockwell stood up slowly, placing his hands flat on the desk. His eyes never left Hannibal's as he leaned forward until they were nose to nose. "Your men may be impressed by your posturing, _Colonel_. But I am not. So far, I have handled all of you with much more care than needed. But make no mistake, there is _no _doubt I can keep you here. Push me, Smith and I will effectively _castrate _you and every one of your men in any way I see fit."

"Push _me_, Stockwell, and I'll blow your whole goddamn operation so far out of the water you just _might _be responsible for World War III. That would look awfully embarrassing on your reports to the Pentagon."

Every semblance of Stockwell's calm, controlled, emotionless posture was gone. There was fury in his eyes, and Murdock watched it with a detached sort of fascination. Hannibal had touched a nerve. Ordinarily, this would be the point where an opponent made mistakes, showed his hand simply to prove that he was going to win. And that, Murdock knew, was precisely what Hannibal was after.

"You are alive and breathing right now because I say so, Smith. And if you ever so much as think to turn on me, I will take out everything you and your men ever so much as touched. Maybe an unfortunate accident will befall Adel Baracus, who lives alone, goes to church every Sunday, and does her laundry every other Tuesday at the laundromat two blocks over - because the one that's closer to her house charges twenty-five cents more. Or perhaps Jessica Summers will have an unfortunate incident on her way to work at the Westwood VA before the surgery she has scheduled tomorrow morning. That place is full of some very deranged and violent men. How would James and Heather fare on their own? I suspect James' 4-point-oh will drop rather quickly."

Murdock could feel the anger rising up inside of him. Stockwell was showing his hand, sure enough. And it was infuriating. His eyes shifted to Hannibal, and he moved a step closer as he saw the fury flash in Hannibal's eyes. That look was sobering. Two very big, very angry dogs were about to tear each other's throats out.

"I know everything about everyone you have ever cared about," Stockwell continued. "And some people you haven't. Did you know that your pilot has _six_ older sisters? I know their names, their ages, their locations, and the schools their _grandchildren _attend. Those are just a _few _of the people who are living and breathing because I say so. So the next time you come into my office, you had better damn well remember that."

There was no time to process the words. Hannibal was over the desk before Stockwell had a chance to reach for that little button to call his backup - or the weapon that he surely had nearby. The mention of his sisters had slowed Murdock's reaction time considerably, but as Hannibal wrapped his hands around Stockwell's throat and pinned to the wall, Murdock was there.

"Hannibal, no!"

In that moment, there was nothing in him that would feel remorse for snapping Stockwell's neck. Murdock knew that just by looking at him. There was no consideration of consequences or plans - simply a gut reaction to such a threat against his men. But if he did that, not only did Bev stay in prison, but there was no telling what sort of retaliation Stockwell had in store if anything should happen to him. Not to mention all of the time they had spent working for him would be for nothing.

The second Hannibal's hands were off his neck, Stockwell lunged for his desk. Within seconds, the room was flooded with men who had their guns drawn. Hannibal was still seething, but he didn't try to go through Murdock. Still glaring daggers at Stockwell, he took a step back.

"You've got balls, Stockwell, I'll give you that." He was breathing hard from the adrenaline. Murdock could practically feel it sheeting off of him. "But don't think for a moment that you'd be any safer if you hurt me or mine than I would be if I killed you where you stand. You already have my word that I'll fulfill this goddamn contract, and that doesn't change unless you overstep your boundaries. But if you do, God help you. Because if you leave even one of us still breathing, you're as good as dead."

Hannibal glared at him for a long moment before taking a step back. The guns followed him until the first man he passed grabbed him by the arm and shoved him toward the door. Murdock watched silently as he was escorted out. In the midst of trying to come to grips with everything that Stockwell had just said, threatened, and implied, he wasn't sure just what the hell he was supposed to do now.

Jesus Christ, how much did this man know? Better yet, what the fuck didn't he know? Running his hand over his face, Murdock tried to force some order into the rapid fire thoughts careening around his head. Stockwell had his claws into people that they had never even dreamed of, didn't even know existed. There was no way they could protect all of them. No matter how good they were, no matter how hard they tried, if Stockwell decided to pull the trigger, some of them would get caught in the crossfire.

Maybe more importantly, if this was what he was willing to tell them about, what did he have that he was holding back? Murdock knew as sure as he was standing there, Stockwell hadn't spilled all his secrets - just enough to get his point across.

Very slowly, the pistols were returned to their holsters, leaving Stockwell and Murdock standing face to face. Stockwell looked him up and down as if evaluating the threat he posed, then nodded to the men nearby, dismissing them. Only one remained just inside the door, just in case. Murdock didn't move, frozen in place, mind reeling.

Hannibal had made his position crystal clear. He wasn't going to give in. He couldn't. If he did, Stockwell would see that as a weakness. And he would use it. But Bev was still in jail, locked up and vulnerable. It suddenly occurred to Murdock that with one word from Stockwell, she could have an accident before they even got out the door to mount a rescue. Hannibal had said she could twist in the wind for all he cared. He had made it very clear that he felt nothing for her. He had said he cared about Murdock and he would help her, but Stockwell had just put him in checkmate.

This game they had been playing with Stockwell, the stakes were higher then they could ever have imagined. Was he supposed to sit back and just watch this rotten, mockery of a human being tear his team, his friends, his _family_ apart? It hit him hard; there was no way he could do that. They needed him.

Moving slowly, Murdock put his hand on the corner of Stockwell's desk, and slowly bent down, picking up the cane that had been dropped in the melee. When he straightened, he pulled his jacket down, readjusted his cap, and looked the monster in the eye.

"Is there something else, Captain?" There was no hint of emotion, and certainly not weakness in Stockwell's steady gaze. Nothing exploitable. He was holding the high cards and he knew it.

He kept his voice controlled, neutral. There was too much at stake to let his emotions show. If he did, Stockwell would exploit them. "What do you want for Beverly's charges to be dropped?"

It was the second time he had asked that, but things had changed drastically in the moments in between. Stockwell eyed him with calm disdain for a moment, then turned and crossed the few short steps back to his desk before sitting down again in his chair.

"Given the impressive... display from your colonel, I don't frankly think you're in a position to offer anything that I would want."

"Hannibal _can't _give you the diamonds," Murdock answered firmly. "We never had them."

Stockwell leaned back, breathing deep, regaining his composure completely before he looked back up at Murdock. Murdock gripped the handle of his cane tighter, hating every second he had to talk to this man. It felt wrong. But they were in a no-win situation. The best he could do was try and keep the casualty count low.

He kept any hint of challenge out of his next words. "He will go to war with you, General." He hated using that title. The man didn't deserve it. But it was a small part of himself to give away. It was worth it if he could use it to get what he wanted - what he needed.

"You'll lose us and a lot more," he continued evenly. "And we'll lose too; you've made that very clear. You've made a career out of thinking on your feet. I'm asking you to reconsider this."

Stockwell stared at him, ice cold and unfeeling, lacing his fingers together in front of his lips. "What is it you're proposing, Captain?" There was no inflection to his voice whatsoever, nothing in his eyes. "Because frankly, Beverly Richards deserves to be in jail for the murder she committed. And I have never been amenable to the release of dangerous criminals back into the general public."

There was no point debating Bev's innocence. She wasn't innocent. Neither was he. Or Stockwell. "She may deserve to be in jail, but I'm sure you can come up with a way to make her release worth it to you."

"You have very little to bargain with, Captain, since you are hardly in a position to negotiate a deal on behalf of the others."

Murdock knew that. He was operating blind and dealing with someone who had manipulation as his bread and butter. Murdock knew he was going to come out on the losing end of this. But what was that compared to the depth Stockwell would go to in order to hurt the others? What did Murdock even have to offer him?

Stockwell paused for a long moment, eyeing him carefully. Murdock could almost see the wheels turning in his head, that slight, pure evil smile coming across his lips as he held his hands over his mouth. That look very suddenly and very obviously made him feel ill.

"However... you _could _potentially negotiate a deal on your own behalf."

There was a slight buzzing in Murdock's ears as he forced back the anger, fear and panic he felt at the thought of 'negotiating' with someone who knew more about him than he did. Someone who would think nothing of taking away everything he loved.

"What do you want?" he asked. There was no use in pretending he was in a position to bargain. "I don't have the diamonds."

"So you say."

"Whether you believe me or not, it doesn't make a difference. I don't have them. I can't give them to you."

Stockwell was quiet for a moment, considering. Finally he lowered his hands, elbows on the arms of the chair, and studied Murdock contemplatively. "Well, I suppose I could offer you the same thing I offered the rest of your team. Only in your case, it's not _your_ pardon you have need to secure, as you did a fine job of avoiding any repercussions on your own act of homicide."

It took him a second to process the words he was hearing, and twice as long to believe them. The same deal? Stockwell wanted him under contract? White noise and panic started to seep into his mind, and he fought it, forced himself to stay alert and grounded. Why? Why would Stockwell even suggest that? He had to know as long as he had the team, he had Murdock. But it wasn't enough. With bone chilling clarity he understood what Stockwell was asking. Stockwell didn't want him here on his own free will. He wanted control, he wanted to own him. Jesus fucking Christ.

Somewhere in his mind, he knew he was standing there slack jawed, but he felt far away. Surreal. _Focus! _What did it really change? He was here with the team, no matter what. So why did it feel like Stockwell was asking him to cut out a chunk of his soul and burn it on the altar?

"What exactly is your offer?"

"A set number of missions, and in return, she would receive a pardon for her crime." He sounded casual, almost amused. Was Murdock really hearing what he was hearing? "However, that pardon does remain mine until our agreement is fulfilled. It should take at least that long to conduct a complete murder trial in a civilian court."

"She gets out of jail today," Murdock said firmly. "And stays out until..." He had to fight to force the words out. His chest was too tight; his throat seemed to be trying to keep his words down. "Until I fulfill the terms of the agreement."

Stockwell considered that quietly, carefully. "As you recall, an escape was never part of the agreement I made with the other members of your team, and I had far more to gain from their release than hers. Why should it be included now?"

"Because it's not just about what you'll gain," Murdock answered, impressed by how confident he sounded when, in fact, it was the furthest thing from what he felt. "It's about what you stand to lose if Hannibal goes rouge with us. Besides, you don't need to test our ability to break her out of there, the way that you needed to test the team before. And you said yourself, you don't care where she is."

Stockwell was quiet for a long moment, studying him, letting the silence stretch. Finally, he shifted position, sitting forward slightly. "Very well. I'll see what I can do." He paused. "Contingent upon my ability to secure her release, we have a deal then?"

He extended a hand, eyeing Murdock with a skeptical look. Murdock stared at the hand that was offered as if he was seeing it with someone else's eyes. The buzzing in his head was getting louder. Was he really going to do this? Did he have a choice? He was about to make a deal with the devil, and he knew it.

His eyes moved back up to Stockwell's as his hand, which felt too heavy and stiff to belong to him, came up. He hesitated only a second before he clasped Stockwell's hand. He was half shocked that it didn't burn to the touch.

"We have a deal."

With those quite words, he felt something in his soul slip away.


	21. Chapter Nineteen

**CHAPTER NINETEEN**

"You did _what_!" The shock and horror in Face's voice was unlike anything Murdock had ever heard from him.

Murdock didn't reply. He simply lowered his eyes and remained silent, hands deep in his pockets, waiting for the moment to pass.

"Are you out of your mind?" Face hissed, dropping his voice so that it wouldn't be heard all throughout the compound. "Do you have any idea what kind of -"

He stopped abruptly as Hannibal stepped into the room, and eyed them both for a moment. He'd returned only about an hour before Murdock, and hadn't said a word since. "Is there a problem?" his tone was flat.

Face stopped, brought up short by Hannibal's arrival. Murdock's head came up slowly, his eyes moving to Hannibal. He was standing in the room, but he felt as if he was watching himself from a safe distance. The strange static in his head was still keeping him from thinking about what he had done.

"I just made a deal with Stockwell."

Face's reaction was repeated by Hannibal, almost verbatim. The same look of shock, the same mortified tone. "You _what_!"

"A hundred missions," he said flatly. "Bev gets released, and gets a pardon upon successful completion."

Hannibal's jaw was slack. Face was the first to speak. "Are you out of your mind?"

Somewhere buried in the white noise, Murdock could hear the angry disbelief in Face's voice, but he couldn't feel any of the impact or pain yet. That would come later, when he could feel again.

"It was the only way."

"The only way?" Face took a step forward as anger escalated to fury. "The _only_ way? What about us, Murdock? What about your friends? Your teammates? Did it ever occur to you that we might have an answer? That we might be able to find a solution that didn't involve you jumping into bed with the enemy?"

Murdock's jaw clenched, at the accusation, and he shut his eyes tight.

"We're trying to get _away_ from Stockwell, not tie ourselves to him tighter!"

Finally, Face got the anger he was apparently looking for. There was a heavy _thunk _as Murdock slammed the tip of his cane into the floor, using it to take a quick, limping step towards him. "You think I would sell my soul to that son of a bitch if there was a way that didn't cost us! You think I'm a fucking idiot? That I want him to own me?"

"Two very different questions there," Face shot back.

"Do you think for one second that I wasn't thinking of my teammates and the people they love?"

"No. I think it's the same damn thing you did with Morrison, when you kept yourself locked up in the VA for thirteen years because you didn't think we could possibly come up with a better plan as a team and you wanted to take matters into your own hands."

"Fuck you!"

"Alright, _enough_!" Hannibal interrupted, his tone ringing with authority.

Murdock swung towards Hannibal as Face shut up. Hannibal stared back steadily, unflinching. He wasn't giving off half the aggression that Murdock was, but he wasn't backing down either. He seemed completely unmoved.

"What is it you want to say to me, Captain?"

It was an open invitation more than a challenge. But the difference was so subtle, Murdock probably wasn't supposed to notice. Good. Because he didn't really _care_.

"He had us in checkmate."  
"And you believe that because I pissed him off enough to make him threaten openly?" Hannibal challenged. "He didn't say anything _that _new, Murdock."

"All those people he has in his sights, there's no way we could get to them all before he got to at least one of them. And you damn well know it. We're playing his game."

"We weren't playing _any _game yet," Hannibal corrected. "All we were trying to do was hash out the rules of the game."

"What the hell was I supposed to do after they dragged you out, huh? Sit back and wait to see who he chose to make an example of?"

"No. You were supposed to let him go through his spiel about how you needed to influence me."

"He didn't have a spiel, Hannibal!"

"Then you should've pulled it out of him!" Hannibal snapped, his own patience slimming. "Offered him the diamonds, offered to do what you could to change my mind."

"And undermined you when you've said over and over again that we don't have them?"

"He already knows we do. And if he bought it when you said we didn't, it's only because he assumed I kept you in the dark."

Frustrations mounting, Murdock could feel his fists shaking at his sides. "Well, if you had a script you wanted me to follow, maybe you should've made it a little more clear."

"I didn't think I had to," Hannibal growled. "You care about her, and you should damn well know me. Did it even occur to you that I wouldn't have gone to him in the first place if I wasn't prepared to _bleed _for your girlfriend, Murdock? Just what makes you think that giving a power-hungry megalomaniac even _more _control is going to deter him?"

"Deter him?" he all but spat out. "There's no stopping him, I was looking to buy time to plan _without _getting someone killed."

"And that's the truth, isn't it? You let him scare you. You played right into his hand."

"He's still got Bev locked up, he could have her killed with one god damn phone call! You might not give a damn if she swings or not but I do!"

"Stockwell has nothing to gain by having your girlfriend killed."

"She's not just my girlfriend, Hannibal! She's your goddamn daughter."

"That changes nothing."

There was no warning. Just Murdock's fist connecting with Hannibal's jaw. "Like _hell _it changes nothing, you son of a bitch!"

Face was between them, but Hannibal was already taking a step back.

"Easy," Face warned, hands on Murdock's arms. Murdock had his weight pressed into him, but he wasn't trying to break through him.

"It's supposed to change everything!" Murdock yelled. "She's supposed to mean something to you! You're not supposed to be able to walk away again!"

"Don't make this about you, Murdock. What happened with me and that woman's mother forty years ago has absolutely nothing to do with you."

Murdock stepped back, away from Face, and tugged his jacket down, glaring daggers at Hannibal. "You don't know a damn thing about it," he growled.

Then, finally, he moved as quickly as he could to the exit, leaving the two of them alone in the room.

*X*X*X*

"And after all of that," Carla said, sipping her wine as she smiled across the dinner table. "You failed to retrieve the diamonds."

"Retrieving the diamonds would have sufficiently made the point," Stockwell admitted. "Though I think, all things considered, the point has been made this way, as well."

"A new contract with Murdock does not technically ensure the services of the entire team for that additional period of time."

"Oh, but it does." Stockwell set his fork down, finished with his meal. "They won't leave him. Of that, I'm certain."

She nodded slowly, hesitating for a moment. "You do realize that this gives you no additional time to procure those pardons. Sixty-eight missions..."

"Sixty-seven," he corrected. "Two years, at the current rate."

"So the agreement with Murdock procures another year, but it might be a little difficult to keep them cooperative if, at the end of those sixty-seven, they aren't granted that precious piece of paper."

"I'll deal with that when the time comes." He smiled knowingly as he lifted his glass. "If need be, I'll give them a piece of paper."

"I see the end of this going very poorly."

"And I see it posing an interesting challenge."

"And what of Ms. Richards? Does she also pose an interesting challenge?"

"How so?"

"How do you intend to have her released?"

"I already have."

Carla's eyes widened slightly at that. "Really?"

"I would've thought it would have taken more time."

"It was not difficult to dismantle the case against her. After all, I was the one who built it."

"Indeed, you were." She sighed softly. "You know, it seems almost... anticlimactic. After all of the work you put into it."

"Not at all," he replied, reaching for the wine bottle and refilling her glass before his own. He smiled again, very much like the cat who ate the canary, as he settled back in his chair again. "I got what I wanted, if in a roundabout way."

*X*X*X*

Murdock's eyes opened at the squeaking sound of the key in the lock. It was Bev. The team would knock first. As she called out quietly, he almost flinched at the sound of his name. Maybe if he just closed his eyes and pretended to be somewhere else, she would go away.

He shut his eyes again, not moving. Maybe it was wrong to hide from her. It sounded wrong in his head. He didn't want her to go away. He liked it when she was around. But right now, he really just wanted to be alone. As much as he enjoyed being around her, he needed to be alone. To deal with the ramifications of what he'd just done.

Footsteps on the floor. He opened his eyes and saw her feet on the floor in front of him. She stopped beside the bed, and lowered to her knees, peering under the bed at him. His eyes were already adjusted. He knew it would take her a moment longer to see him. But she spoke anyways, before she could've possibly made out his figure in the dark.

"What are you doing under there?"

She knew he was there. If she didn't, she would in a second or two, when her eyes adjusted. He couldn't ignore her. But damn it, he really didn't want to talk. "Hiding."

"From what?"

"Everything."

"Even me?"

He didn't answer, just shut his eyes and turned his head into his arm. _Go away… _

She didn't go away. After a long moment, she laid flat on the floor and slid closer to him. She didn't touch him, but he could sense her presence next to him - hear her breath, feel the warmth of her body.

"I missed you," she said quietly.

He didn't answer.

"I tried to call you. You didn't pick up."

"I'm sorry," he muttered.

"I was going to take a cab, but Hannibal was already there to take me home."

Hannibal. Murdock almost winced. Reluctantly, he opened his eyes again to stare at her in the darkness. "Did he say anything to you?"

She hesitated a moment. "He said you made some kind of deal. To get me out."

Damn it, those words hurt to hear. He didn't want her to know about that. He didn't want anyone to know about that. _He _didn't want to know about it. He just wanted it all to go away…

"But he said I'd have to ask you about it."

In any case, that wasn't the answer Murdock was searching for. There was something much more important Hannibal should've told her. Had he? Murdock forced himself to look at her again. "Did he say anything else?"

He could barely make out her smile. "That you really loved me," she said softly. "That I should come see you. And that I'd probably find you under the bed."

Murdock's eyes slid closed again.

"He knows you very well."

"Yes," Murdock admitted, barely a whisper.

He flinched at the light, warm touch of her fingers on the side of his face, then slowly relaxed again as she stroked along his jaw. "He's more than just a friend to you, isn't he?"

She pulled down the blanket he'd been peeking out of - the one he'd had over his head since he'd come home this morning - and caressed his neck, feather lightly.

"He's almost like a father," she continued softly. "I've never seen that before in a way that I… admire."

That empty, hollow, aching feeling his chest was back. Almost like a father? Hannibal meant a hell of a lot more to Murdock than anyone he had ever called Dad. Knowing that - even thinking it - just made the hurt worse somehow. One more jumble and confused feeling to throw onto the already overwhelming mass that was pressing down on him, making it close to impossible to think and hard to breathe.

He felt fragmented, like he was seeing himself in a broken mirror and all these different, but identical reflections of him were staring back. Which was the real him? The team was the only place safe when he felt like this. But he couldn't be there, near them. Not when they would see through him. So he opted to be alone, to pull in on himself until he was solid again. But Bev's hand was warm against his neck and he was dropping his head forward instinctively, seeking out that warmth.

"Murdock..."

She was quiet for a moment, then carefully maneuvered in the cramped space, turning as much onto her side as she could manage and sliding her hand up into his hair to pull his head a bit closer. She kissed his forehead, and left her lips there, her breath warm against his skin.

"Why do I get the feeling your week has been just as rough as mine?"

Comforting smell and touches, warm lips, soft curves, real and solid. That gentle, chaste kiss, such a little thing - especially when compared to all the things he had done and seen - but so far out of his realm of experience. He couldn't have pulled away of he wanted to, and he didn't. He wanted more of that contact. It was a desire that transcended sexual contact, and past intimate, all the way to base human need. Just an age old, driving necessity to touch another living human being, to be cared for and held.

Twisting and contorting, he managed to slide his arms around her, pressing his body to hers. Hurt and confused, he found himself holding tight to her while he tried to find the pieces he needed to put himself back together. She moved her hand down, sliding it under the blanket and carefully maneuvering it around them both. She had very little room to move, and instead just nuzzled against him.

"You wanna talk?"

"No." With a movement that was part shake of the head and part rubbing his face against her neck, suddenly animal instinct had him wanting burrowing in to her. Tactile and olfactory senses sought out the comfort in the memory of her scent and feel.

"Okay," she answered softly, nuzzling him back. "We don't have to."

In the firestorm of emotions and thoughts he had been trying to hide from, came a single solid thought, so real he could almost touch it. "I love you."

She smiled softly. He could feel the muscles in her face, and as she nuzzled against him gently, she paused to kiss anyplace her lips could touch. "I know. I love you, too."


	22. Chapter Twenty

**CHAPTER TWENTY**

Bev woke up cramped and confused. Where was she? Startled and suddenly feeling claustrophobic, she realized she was still under the bed. The room was lit with an eerie blue-gray, pre-dawn light. She hurt everywhere from lying on the hard floor, unmoving, for so long.

Not quite awake yet, she turned to look at the figure sleeping beside her, fully dressed and huddled in his blanket against the wall, as small as he could make himself. Shivering at the chill in the room, she uncurled herself and reached out to touch the side of his face lightly.

"Murdock?"

His eyes opened immediately with a look in them that warned of both fear and danger - like the look of a wild animal debating between fight or flight. Ignoring the look, she smiled as she stroked his cheek, and watched it fade away.

"You suppose we can get on top of the bed now?" she asked. "I'm sore."

He hesitated for a moment, then nodded.

She was slow in getting to her feet. When she did, she waited for him to follow before sitting down on the edge of it and running a hand through her greasy hair. "I am desperately in need of a shower, stud. Would you like to join me or would you prefer to keep this bed warm for when I get back?"

He sat down beside her, and shook his head. "Go ahead and enjoy a solo shower, I'll be here."

She smiled and stood, leaning in to kiss his lips lightly. "I'll be right back."

She slipped away quietly, well aware that he wasn't watching her as she wandered to the bathroom. The shower was quick, and she returned a few minutes later wrapped in a towel, hair wet and falling around her face. For a moment, she stood at the foot of the bed and smiled at him. Still dressed in his shoes and jacket, he looked anything but relaxed. Rewrapping the towel tighter around her, she knelt on the edge of the bed and reached for his foot. He didn't wake up - or at least didn't acknowledge her - as she untied his shoe and pulled it off, dropping it on the floor before moving to the other one.

He was startled awake by her hands on his shoulders, pushing his jacket back. "Hey," she whispered quietly. "Take this off. Relax. Yeah?"

He watched her for a long moment before reluctantly sitting up just enough to writhe out of his jacket. She stripped his shirt at the same time, then dropped both on the floor before lying down beside him, stretching her arm across his torso. With a deep sigh, she set her head on his shoulder.

"I missed you."

He didn't answer. Slowly, she withdrew the damp towel from around her body and dropped it at the side of the bed as well, pressing skin to skin along his side. He said nothing, and didn't move. But his eyes were open, staring up at the ceiling.

"Are you okay?"

He breathed deep and slow, letting his eyes slide closed. "I'm not feeling real well."

She didn't answer for a few long, lingering moments. Nuzzling against him, she let her fingers stroke lightly up and down his side.

"Does that have anything to do with me?"

"Why would you think that?"

"'Cause it's been a really rough couple of days. For both of us."

He sighed. "You more than me, darlin'."

She set soft kisses on his neck, nails scratching lightly on his skins. It wasn't meant to be erotic. It was simply comforting - warm and intimate.

"Hannibal told me you signed your death warrant. For me."

Murdock swallowed hard, shutting his eyes tighter, but didn't answer.

"Murdock, what did he mean?"

"Don't worry about it, Bev." His words were meant to be reassuring. But his tone failed to comfort her. "He was… exaggerating."

"He didn't sound like it."

"It doesn't put me in any worse situation than I was before. Whether or not it was my name on the dotted line, he's had my team from the get go. He had me. It's just official now."

"What's official? What did you sign?"

He sighed deeply, then finally turned to look at her, smiling tightly as he reached up to brush her hair out of her eyes. "Nothing yet, Darlin'."

"But that's just a formality at this point, isn't it? The agreement's already made, or I wouldn't have been released."

He watched her for a moment with those deep, sad eyes, then finally leaned in to kiss her forehead. But he didn't answer her. Damn it, she wanted answers. She _needed _answers. What the hell had he done? More importantly, _why_?

"Whoever you're serving must be a very powerful man."

He didn't answer. It was a long and mournful silence as he looked back up at the ceiling.

"I get that you don't talk about your work." She pulled away slightly, resting her hand lightly on his shoulder as she propped herself up beside him, head on her arm. He opened his eyes to watch her silently. "I get that you _won't_ talk about it. I can't ask you to. But this isn't about your work, it's about me. About what you did for me."

She was well aware that she was pleading with him; it was something she didn't normally do. And it wasn't working. She was still debating her next plan of attack when the knock at the door interrupted her thoughts. Startled, she glanced at the clock before rising to her feet, grabbing his robe off the back of the door, and heading to the door of the apartment.

The man standing on the doorstep was unfamiliar. She stared at him for a moment, stunned, before she finally found words. "Yes?"

The man smiled. "Ms. Richards, I presume?"

His voice was vaguely familiar, but she couldn't place it. Eyeing him carefully, she hid behind the door as she gave a conscious nod. "Yes. What do you want?"

"I'm looking for HM Murdock."

"Are you aware that it's 6:30 in the morning?"

"It is a matter of some importance."

"Well, he's still in bed. Maybe you can try coming back at a more decent hour."

The man smiled, completely calm and self-assured. "If you wouldn't mind waking him, this is important business."

"I'm sorry, you are?"

"I've got it, Bev," Murdock said from behind her. She glanced over her shoulder just in time to turn into him. His hand was on the door, and she ducked under his arm as she moved back.

"What do you want?" Murdock demanded coldly, looking out at the man.

"I wanted to bring this to you in person."

She couldn't see what he had brought. By Murdock's reaction, he'd been expecting it.

"If you don't mind, I will be taking my copy back with me."

A moment of silence, then Murdock glanced over his shoulder at her. "Darlin' why don't you go get dressed?" he asked quietly. "And if you wouldn't mind making us some coffee? Please?"

It wasn't an order. It was a request for privacy. She obliged him with a smile and a nod, heading back to the bedroom.

*X*X*X*

"The contract is standard, though it includes the same modifications that were requested by your colonel."

"What modifications?"

"You are guaranteed that your missions will not include assassinations, and that reasonable effort will be made to ensure that you are granted time to recover between missions." Stockwell followed as Murdock walked to the balcony and sat down, reading over every line of the formal document. "Out of consideration for your team's structure and as a courtesy, I have also added clauses specifying that, in spite of the fact that you ultimately report to me, you directly report to Colonel Smith."

"Oh, that's very considerate," Murdock said dryly.

Stockwell waited patiently as Murdock read the contract. In fact, it looked identical to the ones the rest of the team had signed. Including the part about the living arrangements.

"So let me guess. After first specifying that you _didn't _want me at the compound, now you want me there?"

Stockwell smiled. "Well, I can't very well have you living here. I like to keep an eye on my... assets."

He could feel the cold black anger rising, but there was nowhere for it to go. Any right that he had to autonomy was signed away for Bev's pardon. That was worth it, and he had no regrets about agreeing to this. But that fact alone didn't make it any easier.

"You watch me here," he reminded him. "You even bugged my place. That's not good enough for you now?"

"I've arranged for you to move onto the compound," Stockwell said simply. "You'll be living in the pool house, as of tomorrow. Anything you feel the need to bring with you, you can do it this evening."

There was silence broken only by the chirping of birds waking up to face the morning. Murdock stared at Stockwell. For more than a year, the man had made sure to keep him away. Now he was pulling him in tight. There was a churning in his stomach and a distant buzzing in his head. Jesus Christ, he was going to have to live under this man's roof. But even worse, he still wouldn't be with the team. He was relegated to the pool house. God damn it.

"I trust that you will find it comfortable." He cast a glance back over his shoulder at Bev, who had moved to the kitchen. "Though I'm afraid visiting hours will be limited."

Murdock heard the growl rising in his throat. Damned if he wanted her anywhere near him. Just the idea that she would be drawn in tighter with this sack of shit had his fist tightening around the pen in his hand.

"Fine," he shot.

He wanted this monster out of his home. Clamping his jaw shut, Murdock forced down every other thought, and signed his name to the bottom of the paper. Then he stood and shoved it towards Stockwell.

"Anything else?"

It was a clear invitation to leave. As Stockwell put the paper back into the folder in his hand, he smiled. Then he headed for the door.

"I expect you will report in by nine o'clock tonight."

Murdock felt like he was carved in stone, like he had just suddenly turned to rock. He was powerless to stop this, and he knew Stockwell got off on that. That was what this whole exercise was about, after all. He was just reminding them who held the reins, who had the power, and who he had under control. And like it or not, he had them all under his control in one way or another.

It would be so easy to grab him by the neck. But Stockwell wasn't stupid enough to not have a plan for vengeance if anything should happen to him. Trying hard to keep the buzzing in his head to a minimum, Murdock kept his darkness in check.

His lips pulled back tight, what was supposed to be a smile, looked much more like an animal baring its teeth. "Good bye."

Thankfully, Stockwell didn't utter another word on his way out the door.

*X*X*X*

"What the hell was that about?" Bev asked quietly, once Murdock had locked the door behind the man.

Not answering her, Murdock walked - limping slightly - to the sofa and flopped down, putting his head back on the armrest. For a moment, there was nothing but silence and the quiet squeaking of the hamster's wheel in his cage.

"Nothing," he lied.

He didn't even try to make her believe it.

Pouring two cups of coffee, she walked to the living room and handed him one before sitting on the other side of the couch.

"I cannot tell you how good it feels to be clean," she said, tucking her legs up underneath her.

If he truly didn't want to talk about it, the change in topic would probably be appreciated. But he didn't say anything at all, and she watched him for a long moment before she set her coffee down and crawled closer to him. He opened his eyes and looked at her, startled, but didn't push her away. Instead, he put his arms around her, moving back further into the couch to give her room.

"I missed you," she whispered, tucking her head under his chin.

It took several long minutes for him to answer, slowly moving his hand slowly up her back as he finally spoke. "I missed you, too."

She sighed deeply, and relaxed. He felt good - safe and warm and secure. In spite of the stress, the tension she could feel in his body, in spite of all the unanswered questions that were swirling in her mind, there was no place else she would rather be right now.

"I know I really don't have a..." She hesitated for a long moment. "I guess, a _right _to be scared. I did what they said I did. And I did it knowing that someday it might catch up with me. It was worth the risk when I did it and... I don't know. If I could change it, I wouldn't. I'd do it all over again. He deserved it."

His hand stroked up and down her back, but he said nothing. He just let her speak, let her rest against his warmth.

"Sitting in that room - that cold, gray room that I couldn't leave - and thinking that... this could be the rest of my life..." She shuddered slightly. "God, I really was scared. And then, when I realized what I was leaving behind..."

She pulled away just enough to make eye contact, and waited until Murdock turned to look at her before continuing. "I had nothing to lose when I pulled that trigger. I always figured if they ever caught me, I'd just... Hell, I'd kill myself before I'd spend the rest of my life in prison. But then I realized... what that would mean for you."

He smiled tightly, and leaned in to kiss her forehead before pulling her head under his chin again.

"I didn't think you'd actually be able to get me out, but I was damn sure you were going to try and... I didn't want to let you down by not holding up my end." She paused again. "And then lying there staring up at that ceiling, I realized... how much I wanted to see you. When I got that letter from you I almost cried. Right there, in front of Hannibal. Because I just... I missed you. I really did. I don't understand it, and I don't know what to think about it... but there it is."

He breathed deep. "I'm glad you're okay," he finally whispered.

She nuzzled against him, sliding one bare foot along his khakis, up and down until she managed to push them up a little further and curl her toes around the bottom edge. She stroked up and down his calf as much as she could reach, pressing her hips against him, curling in close to his warmth. She was stroking up and down his side, under his shirt, eyes still closed as she nuzzled under his chin, kissing and nipping at his neck. She wanted to taste him. Wanted to feel that closeness.

But he was deep in thought, somewhere far away. After several attempts, she finally resigned to that fact and pushed herself up just enough to look at him. "Murdock?"

He looked back at her, and she took a deep breath.

"Whatever you have to do to bring back the man that I love, do it."

He closed his eyes at that, but he didn't argue. She was glad. It meant he at least knew how much he was pushing her away. With a soft smile, she raised her hands to either side of his face, holding him gently as she leaned down to kiss his lips lightly.

"And I'll be right here waiting when you do. Because I still miss you."

*X*X*X*

Hannibal was on the deck, sitting comfortably and watching the morning sun with distant eyes. Murdock watched him for a long moment before approaching, keeping a safe distance - just close enough that he didn't have to yell.

"You didn't tell her."

Hannibal glanced at him, then away again, pulling his cigar from between his teeth and studying it for a moment. He didn't answer, but it was clear that he'd heard.

"As long as that's left out there, it's another weapon Stockwell can use against us."

It was a statement, nothing more or less. He felt more like a soldier giving a report than someone who had willingly followed this man for decades. Right now, there was so much going on in his head, it was best for everyone if it stayed like that - at least for now.

"When she does find out, it's going to be a huge shock," Murdock continued flatly. "Her reaction will directly affect the team."

"She's not what I would consider a threat, if that's what you're getting at."

"By giving Stockwell a chance to tell her, he gets to chose the time and control the circumstances. Which we already know will not be in our best interest."

"Stockwell doesn't even know what we have or haven't told her. And he got what he wanted out of her. He'll be looking for a new weapon."

Attention on his cigar, Hannibal avoided eye contact. Murdock's jaw clenched as he took a step forward. "I love her, Hannibal."

Hannibal paused noticeably, then drew in a deep breath as he leaned back slightly.

"When she's hurt, I'm hurt. I am asking you, please, do not do that to her."

There was a hard, determined edge to Murdock's voice that made it sound like anything but a plea. But in essence, that was exactly what it was. He couldn't force Hannibal to do the right thing. He knew that. His own child, his daughter, was nothing to him. He knew what that felt like - both to be lost, and to be found.

Hannibal was the very person who'd found him, in the end. When he'd had nothing left to live for, Hannibal had come halfway around the world, just to find him. He had believed, from that point on that he would never be lost again, as long as Hannibal was alive. He would never be left behind, because Hannibal didn't leave men behind. He came back for them, time and time again.

But he didn't come back for his own daughter.

Hannibal had fallen from the pedestal Murdock had always had him on. His perfect images shatter like the dreams of Beverly's childhood. He knew that when the dust cleared, there would be a man standing there - just a man, and no god. A man who had gone to hell and back for him because he loved him, because he gave a damn.

Why the hell couldn't he care about his own flesh and blood that way?

"She _did _kill the guy, Murdock."

"I know that."

"Point blank, in the head, while he slept." Hannibal glanced over at him. "I wasn't willing to get involved in this in the first place out of sympathy for her cause."

"You don't care about her," Murdock answered coldly. He was amazed by just how many ways Hannibal could find to say that. "That's understood, loud and clear. But I'm not in any position to judge about killing in cold blood. Frankly, neither are you."

Hannibal watched him for a long moment before he finally spoke, calmly. "What do you want, Murdock?"

"I want to know when you're going to tell Beverly you're her father."

"I hadn't thought about it."

"I'm asking you to think about it."

Hannibal didn't speak. Murdock gave him a moment, then took a deep, slow breath.

"When AJ Bancroft asked me not to tell Face the truth, I gave him twenty-four hours to for it himself. I gave him that amount of time because I didn't think I could trust him to do it at all if he couldn't do it in twenty-four hours. I trust you. And that's why I'm asking you. How long do you want me to wait before I tell Bev who you are? Because she needs to know."

"If you want to tell her, go right ahead."

Murdock's eyes narrowed. Anger tightly reined, he nevertheless straightened his posture as he aimed his next words at the very heart of the matter. "You're a goddamn coward."

Hannibal's jaw set, but he didn't retaliate.

"You tell me I'm afraid," Murdock growled. "That I signed that contract because I was afraid. And maybe you're right. But at least I'm afraid of something _real_. What is it you're afraid of? Are you afraid that if you tell her you don't care about her, you'll have to watch her cry?"

"That's enough, Captain."

"Or maybe you're afraid because you _did _care once. About her mother, maybe?"

Hannibal's eyes flashed, and Murdock knew he'd hit the nail right on the head. "I said that is _enough_!"

"She never married, you know."

Behind the shield of anger and authority, Hannibal flinched as the dagger hit home. Murdock knew he should stop. But just now, just this once, his anger wouldn't let him.

"She waited for you 'til the day she died. And when she did, she left your picture to her daughter. In your West Point uniform. Do you know one of the first things Bev told me?"

Hannibal looked away. Murdock kept his voice flat and cold as he twisted the knife, well aware that he was doing it and completely unapologetic.

"She told me about her dad who used to sit with her in her room and help her draw up battle plans with her army guys." Murdock could feel his own eyes stinging with angry, unshed tears as that picture painted itself in his mind. "She never cared much for Barbies."

Hannibal's eyes were closed. He didn't say a word as Murdock watched him, waiting for a retaliation he knew wouldn't come. There was nothing for him to say. Murdock let the words settle, then finished quietly, barely audible in the distance between them.

"You have twenty-four hours. If you can't do it by then, I will."

Without another word, he turned and walked away.


	23. Chapter Twenty One

**CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE**

"It's so... impersonal."

Murdock sighed as he looked around the neat and tidy, fully decorated pool house. "It's supposed to be."

Leaving the box she'd carried in next to the door, she wandered through the rooms. The pool house was small - no bigger than his apartment had been. The kitchen was as large as the living area, and it was all one room. The only door was to the bedroom, off of the living room, and from the bedroom to the large bathroom at the back of the house.

"Tell me again... why are you moving here?"

He glanced up at her as she struck a pose in the doorway to the bedroom, but he didn't look at her for long. He hadn't given her more than a fleeting glance all day long, as they packed up the few things he wanted to take with him and moved out of the apartment.

"It'll just be easier if I'm here."

That was a lie. She'd overheard the conversation in the apartment between him and the short, slightly balding man she guessed was Stockwell. He was moving to this place because he had been ordered to.

"Maybe I should move here with you." She smiled, turning and letting her eyes linger for a long moment on the neatly made bed. "Screw the lease. I'd rather be in an impersonal pool house than an apartment without you."

"No," he said firmly. "That can't happen."

She smiled over her shoulder at him, then headed into the room, flopping down on the bed. Good god, it was comfortable.

"Wow. If this mattress is any indication of the kind of treatment you're going to get here, I might _have _to move in here."

He appeared in the doorway, hands in the pocket of his khakis, watching her silently.

"Did you lay on this?" she asked with a grin.

He shook his head.

"Well, you should. Come here."

She patted the bed beside her. He hesitated for a moment, then finally took a few steps closer. Ha. He'd fallen into her trap. Turning and throwing one leg over him, she straddled his waist, grabbing his wrists and pinning him. He could break her grip easily, she was sure. But he didn't try. Instead, he looked up at her with that same blank expression he'd had since last night.

Letting her smile fall - the fake one she used when she was being extra special playful just because fun and playing was so much a part of Murdock - she looked down at him. Now that she had him pinned, it was harder for him to avoid eye contact.

"Talk to me," she pleaded quietly. "Fuck me, fight me, laugh, cry, _something_. Stop looking at me with that empty stare."

He tried to smile. But it didn't quite reach his eyes. Because it wasn't real. With a deep sigh, she leaned down and covered his mouth with hers, kissing him slowly. He responded, but he didn't pursue it the way she'd hoped he would.

She nuzzled him as she pulled away, letting her hair fall around them like a curtain. "I miss you..."

The knock on the door interrupted him before he could answer. He pushed up, and she moved off of him, letting him stand and following a few steps behind as he walked to the front door.

She recognized the man outside instantly as the one who had come to talk to her in the prison, posing as her lawyer. She smiled as she saw him. "Hannibal. Hi."

He wasn't smiling. Neither was Murdock. She caught the tension between them; it was enough to make her anxious about even being in the same room with them. Maybe more accurately, without know what that tension was about, it made her uncomfortable in her own skin. She knew damn well she was the major cause of whatever had changed in Murdock's life recently.

As Murdock opened the door wider, Hannibal didn't come in. Instead, his eyes locked not on Murdock but on Bev. "I need to talk to you."

Startled, she looked from Hannibal to Murdock, who took a noticeable step back, out of the way. Why on earth would he want to talk to _her_? Not that it much mattered. She had no reason not to trust him, Murdock was obviously condoning it, and maybe she could get some answers to the questions she couldn't bring herself to ask Murdock.

"Okay."

Hannibal's smile was well practiced, but just as fake as Murdock's. He stepped back and gestured for her to lead the way, into the cool fall air outside. "Let's go for a walk."

Alone. Of course he wanted to talk alone. That was even better. That way, she could ask her questions, point blank. This time, she didn't look to see how Murdock responded. She just headed for the door.

"I'd like that."

Hannibal closed the door behind them, and started heading away from the bigger house, the one she'd not been inside. The guards watched them, but nobody stopped them. Guards. She was still trying to process that. They had come to greet the car, and Murdock had told them to take a hike. But their eyes had never left her ever since, except when she was inside, of course.

"I imagine you have a lot of questions Murdock hasn't been able to answer."

Turning her attention to the man walking beside her, she slowed her pace a little. He let her lead. "Yes, you imagine correctly."

"There's a lot of things I can't tell you. I'm sure you're used to that."

"Unfortunately."

When he didn't answer immediately, she continued.

"Murdock told me a long time ago he did contract work he couldn't talk to me about. I figured him for a hit man, to be honest. When that didn't seem to fit, assumed it was government. CIA, Secret Service, something. Who knows."

"The _who _is a little harder to answer than that. But it is government. That's about all I can really tell you."

She looked up, narrowing her gaze on Hannibal. This man had answers to questions she'd been wanting to ask for a long time, but didn't know how. Now, she was almost afraid to ask them - especially the one that was weighing heaviest on her mind. She was almost afraid of the truth. But she _had_ to know.

She drew in a sharp breath, preparing herself. "What sort of deal did he make?"

Hannibal hesitated. As the silence stretched, she continued.

"A man came to the house this morning and had Murdock sign something. What was it about?"

"We work under contract," Hannibal finally explained. "The man we work for, the one who came to your apartment this morning, owns our services for a certain number of assignments. Murdock... renewed his contract."

She swallowed the lump in her throat. Of course he did. She'd known that. It was obvious, wasn't it? She looked away, not wanting to let Hannibal see any of the emotions in her eyes. "And Murdock's move? That's part of the contract?"

"Yes. Our employer wants him close."

Damn it. There was no nice way to say that it was her fault.

"I'm sure you understand why Murdock doesn't want you moving with him. It's not about you. It's about the man we work for. He won't want you anywhere near him, and rightfully so."

He cast a sideways glance at her, as if to make sure she understood. But she could only answer with a quiet, dull laugh. It took her a minute to find words.

"Not about me? It was about me the moment I was used in all this."

He didn't answer.

"I'm sorry... I just..." She peered back at Hannibal, no longer hiding her concern, her sorrow. "This is a lot. I mean... all of it. Life was... pretty normal a week ago."

Hannibal paused for a long moment, a few silent steps, before he continued. "Beverly, it was nothing you did that landed you in jail. If the charges had been completely made up, the result would've been entirely the same. You were there because our employer wanted you there. And it was because of who you are, not because of anything you did."

"Somehow, that still doesn't make me feel any better."

He was quiet. She took the opportunity to ponder Murdock's _renewed_ contract. What did that mean, exactly? Would he be gone more? For longer? Did it even matter when he was locked up here and she couldn't be with him?

"Hannibal, did he... did he come to you before he went to Stockwell and took the deal?"

"Not exactly."

She could tell by looking at him that his mind was racing. He was watching his words very carefully. "Not exactly? I'm not sure if I understand what that means. Either he did or he didn't."

"I was working on an alternative deal that didn't involve Murdock. He chose to take the responsibility in order to get you out sooner."

"So..." She paused, reflecting on what he'd said, what he'd pretty much just admitted. "If he had come to you, asking advice on this deal, you wouldn't have approved of it?"

Hannibal paused only briefly. "No."

She sighed, suddenly feeling tired. "That's what I thought."

Whether or not it had been the best way, the only way, it would be impossible to ever know. For Murdock, it had been the only way. It had been the one way he could know that she was safe and secure and out of that prison as quickly as possible. At the same time that she felt her love for him grow deeper, the sadness was overwhelming. If there had been another way, he might have never had to renew that contract.

Hannibal was quiet for a few more steps. Then, finally, he took a deep, audible breath. "I know it's not much comfort - especially now. But I am sorry you had to go through all of this. I don't know you, but I know a lot of what you've been through. And a lot of that has been my fault."

"Your fault?" She smiled softly. "The way Murdock talks sometimes, I thought _everything _was Stockwell's fault."

"Stockwell wasn't there in 1946, when I knew your mother."

She froze, midstride, wanting to look up at him, but finding she couldn't. Staring at the ground, she took in a shaky breath. He couldn't have possibly just said what she thought he'd said.

"You knew my mother?"Her voice was hard to find, hard to force out.

"Sherry Jones." He stopped alongside her, turning to face her. "We grew up together."

Her mind racing, she turned away. "So?"

Why tell her this? Why now? Why even say something like that?

"It's why Stockwell wanted you. It didn't have anything to do with the guns, or Andre, or even your relationship with Murdock. It was because of me that he brought you here to begin with."

She stood, staring away from him, out over the compound's landscaped yards, suddenly wishing she was anywhere else. Years of hurt and anger collided with the view she'd already formed of Hannibal - a leader, even a father figure to the man she loved. The oxymoron left her confused, frustrated.

"He thought he could use you to manipulate me. He figured there was no chance in hell I would turn my back on my own daughter."

It took a long while before she could turn back to him, keeping her expression just as blank as she possibly could. "But he was wrong, wasn't he?"

Hannibal stared steadily at her, not moving, eyes serious. Finally, he nodded slightly, solemnly. "Yes."

A lone tear escaped, trickling down her cheek, but she didn't bother wiping it away as she stared defiantly back at him. The anger boiling up inside of her as she watched his cold, emotionless expression was sudden and overwhelming. Jaw clenched, she put her shoulders back, lifted a hand, and slapped him. When he didn't react, except to close his eyes, she did it again, harder. The third time, she used her fist. He reacted to that, grabbing her wrist. She pulled her other arm back, but she didn't have a chance to use it before he grabbed it, too.

"You son of a bitch!"

She struggled, but she couldn't break his grip. Pulling her arms together in front of her chest, elbows bent, holding her still. "Stop," he ordered his voice low and calm.

"Fuck you!" The only reason she wasn't biting and kicking was simply the fact that she couldn't do it with dignity. "How dare you say things like that to me! How dare you!"

He didn't answer, just stared at her steadily as she tried again to jerk her arms away from him. But her strength was no match for his.

"Why are you telling me this!" she yelled at him. "Why now!"  
"Because I didn't know before," he answered quietly, still calm.

"That's _bullshit_!" Her voice was cracking, nearly a scream. "She sent you letters. She sent you _photos_! You knew!"

"She sent me one photo and told me she'd had a son."

Teeth clenched in anger, she glared daggers at him as she spoke through them. "And if that wasn't good enough for you, I can only imagine the disappointment I turned out to be."

There was still nothing in his eyes. When he finally answered, it was quiet and emotionless, and painfully simple. "No."

She growled audibly, shoulders back, facing him head on. "Let go of me," she ordered.

He released her wrists, and she took a moment to compose herself, to push the anger back down where it belonged. She hadn't tapped into it in decades, and she wasn't about to give it a place now. As far as she was concerned, this man in front of her was a liar. And the man responsible for her birth was long dead.

"Does he know?" she demanded, each word clipped and tight. "Does Murdock know what you just told me?"

"He found out shortly before I did. He was the one who told me, and he asked me to tell you."

"How long exactly has he known?"

"He gave me twenty-four hours to tell you before he did it himself."

She growled. Was he being _deliberately _evasive? "So he has _known_ for how long exactly?"

Hannibal's posture relaxed slightly, as if this was a non-issue. Bev's back remained straight as a board.

"He's known since a few hours before he made the deal with Stockwell. He wasn't hiding it from you, if that's what you're worried about."

"Worried?" she challenged. "Why on earth would I be worried?"

He didn't answer, didn't rise to the bait. Good.

She took a step closer to him and lowered her voice. "Look. You don't know me. And frankly, I'd like to keep it that way."

"Sounds like a good idea to me."

"And keep Murdock out of it."

"I don't police Murdock. He'll go wherever he wants. But I can tell you this: he loves you just as much as you do him."

"I know that," she said confidently. "And I know you know it, too. Because you helped me. Not for my sake; you don't have to remind me of how little you'd actually do for _me_. I've lived my life so far, I know where that line lies. But you would have done what you could to get me out of jail, for him."

"I'm glad that at least you recognize that."

She paused, giving a slight, cynical chuckle. "He's a good guy. He looks up to you, so he can't see you for the asshole you are."

Hannibal smiled knowingly. "Oh, I think he's perfectly capable of that."

"Well, good. I don't have to worry about him having his hopes up about the family reunion."

She turned away, walked a few steps in the direction they'd come, then paused and turned back.

"And just so you know," she said flatly, "I don't expect anything from you. I never did."

He nodded as he watched her go, but remained in place, not following her back to the pool house.


	24. Epilogue

**EPILOGUE**

The mission they were on alert for, in Brazil, never happened. A week later, Stockwell sent them to a small Pacific Island to guard a genetics scientist on a week's worth of gathering and studying. It was a milk run, a reward for good behavior, perhaps. And it was Murdock's first mission "on the record."

By the time they returned, Hannibal knew it was time to talk. He had given Murdock space, and plenty of it. But the awkward silences and the cold professionalism between him and Murdock - while perfectly suited for life on the battlefield - was starting to make the rest of the team uncomfortable. The longer this went on, the harder it was going to be to talk about.

It wasn't that Hannibal truly felt nothing. He just didn't want to discuss it. Part of it was self righteous justification. He didn't have to explain his actions to Murdock. But the time had long passed when he was willing to let people suffer for the sake of his own pride. Whatever Murdock needed to hear - whatever was causing him to separate himself more and more - was exactly what Hannibal needed to say. And he would say it. Murdock deserved that much.

He answered the door quickly, and for a moment, there was surprise and shock in his eyes. Hannibal hadn't used his own knock for a reason. But just as quickly as he could, Murdock straightened his posture, slipping back into a safe, professional mode.

"Colonel?"

He was still standing in the doorway, not sure what was expected. Hannibal made no move forward. Instead, he stood at the door comfortably, watching.

"You disappeared pretty quick after that debriefing."

Murdock hesitated, glancing at the Abels who were watching, a discrete distance behind Hannibal. Indecision finally gave way to action as Murdock stepped back and motioned for Hannibal to come in. He might not have been sure of many things right now, but he knew he didn't want to have this conversation in public.

"I didn't feel like being under Stockwell's microscope," he answered cautiously.

"I don't blame you for that." Hannibal stepped inside and looked around, taking in the surroundings. "You haven't changed much. I was half expecting a flower-painted kitchen."

"I'm not sure I want this place to feel like home."

It was a simple statement, and the complete truth. He finished looking around and brought his eyes back to Murdock.

"Well, you're going to be here a while. It won't hurt to make it feel a little less like a prison."

"It is a prison. Prettiest one I've been in, but still a prison."

Hannibal nodded. The tension that had been evident before only in the way Murdock seemed to keep his distance was now overwhelmingly obvious. The professional handling of each other was not, in and of itself, uncomfortable for Hannibal. But Murdock simply didn't relate to people that way. He could play the game as well as anyone else who'd been academy trained. But he wasn't himself when he was shut down. And clearly, he was watching his moves very closely.

"Something on your mind, Captain?"

It was a question with an obvious answer. But more than that, it was a broach to the professionalism, an invitation to speak freely and not address Hannibal as "sir." Sure enough, there as a change in the way he held himself, shoulders rolling in, eyes going to the floor.

"Yes."

Then he was moving, unable to stand still, walking around the island in the kitchen. People who didn't really know the man assumed that talking was something he did with ease, and almost nonstop. But that was only partially true. Yes, he could do that. But he was never that way about things that where personal, things that mattered to him. Those where secrets that he kept to himself, sometimes from himself as an ingrained habit.

Murdock pulled out two coffee cups and filled them from the pot on the counter, sliding one towards Hannibal as he approached slowly. He picked it up from the stone counter, and leaned casually as he watched Murdock.

"You told her."

Hannibal sipped his coffee. "Did you think I wouldn't?"

"I don't know. I wasn't sure. When we talked," there was a slight grimace at that, "it seemed like you figured it was my problem..."

He let the unspoken question trail off and covered his loss for words with a sip of coffee. Hannibal watched him for a long moment before reaching into his pocket for a cigar. "You did a very good job of making it your problem, all the way around." There was no accusation in that. It was a simple acknowledgment of a simple fact. "I don't think Stockwell originally had any intention of making a deal with you. What he wanted was pretty clear."

Hannibal lit his cigar, and reached for his coffee again. Murdock wasn't speaking. The silence spoke for him. "On the other hand, you did what any other man might have done if he thought there was something he could do to prevent the woman he loved from going through another day in prison."

Regardless of whether or not that had been Murdock's rationale at all, it was a way out. It was something that Hannibal could respect - a justifiable reason for a decision that he couldn't condone in and of itself. It was a reason that didn't undermine his faith in Hannibal, or his respect for the team.

"No," Murdock said quietly, tracing his finger around the rim of his coffee mug. "You were right. I was afraid."

Hannibal watched him, waiting for him to continue, to explain. It took several long minutes for him to find words.

"You know, Face was so mad when he found out about Morrison," Murdock said quietly, reflectively. "Not because I killed him. He didn't care about that. But because... I didn't get out of the VA when I could. Don't get me wrong, I needed the VA. I remember what it was like to be crazy. But after about... 1976? Shortly after I started talking to Dr. Richter..."

He paused, and looked away, shaking his head. He didn't need to finish. Hannibal remembered that time as the point when he was waiting for Murdock to announce he'd been released. They'd even had an apartment ready for him. But that day never came, and they all knew he'd made a conscious decision to stay at the VA. It had just taken a little longer to find out the reason why.

"After the trial, Face and I fought, and he said these things about how I didn't trust the team. And it made me even madder that he could even think that, much less believe it. Because I _did _trust the team. The same way I would've trusted you to get Bev out. I just..."

He trailed off again, but he wasn't finished. Pulling his baseball cap off, he pushed a hand through his hair and then replaced it.

"Morrison, that was my problem. I made it, and I took responsibility for it. Bev was the same way. She's not a problem I created, but she's my responsibility. I _want _her to be my responsibility. Do you...? Can you get that? Does that make sense?"

Hannibal was quiet for a long moment, carefully considering his words. "I always said Stockwell knew just how to play us," he finally said. "And he knew how to play you. He knew to keep you away from the team. Because he knew that if he kept you away, kept you segregated, that eventually you would start to forget, just like you did in that hospital, that it's not about you. That your problem isn't your problem. It's _our _problem. And if it takes you down, it takes us all down whether you tried to bear the brunt of it or not. The only thing that happens when you go off and do your own thing - however good your intentions may be - is that it fractures this team. And you can bet your ass that Stockwell is watching that."

Murdock lowered his head, eyes closed, and let the silence linger for a long moment before he finally whispered a barely audible, "I'm sorry."

Hannibal let that settle in reverent silence. Then he took another sip of coffee and took few shallow pulls from his cigar.

"I should've talked more to you about what I was planning," he finally said, quietly. "It just never occurred to me that Stockwell would use that opportunity the way he did. And that was my fault. I try to stay one step ahead of that man, but it's damn near a full time job in and of itself. And he played this very, very well."

"He always does."

It was as close to amends, to mutual understanding, as they could come. All of the issues hadn't been addressed, and Hannibal knew it. But it would be enough to bring them back to a common ground, and to give them a defense against the next time this same issue came up again. Because it was only a matter of time before it did. That was a guarantee.

"You should go see Bev," he said, finishing the last of his coffee and pushing the cup away. "She needs to hear that this isn't her fault."

Murdock blinked, startled. "Her fault? Why would it be her fault?"

"The same reason it's yours, and the same reason it's mine."

Murdock looked up, and their eyes locked for a long moment. Hannibal gave a tight smile as he set his cigar between his teeth and clapped a hand over Murdock's shoulder.  
"Have a good night, Captain. See you in the morning."

Murdock didn't move away from the counter as Hannibal headed for the door. But just before he reached it, Murdock spoke again.

"Thank you."

Hannibal paused and looked back, questioning silently.

"For telling her," Murdock finished, his voice slightly shaky.

Hannibal gave a slight, reassuring smile and nod, then turned and let himself out, into the cool fall air outside.


End file.
